Lost III: Lost in Transit
by Sim Spider
Summary: Part three of the 'Lost' trilogy. Tony is in trouble; and Gibbs is determined to find him...
1. The Living Dead

Disclaimer: I don't own it

Disclaimer: I own nothing but DVDs and an overactive imagination.

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A/N: The third and (probably) final instalment in the Lost Trilogy is here!!

Many, many thanks to everyone who reviewed Losing You and The Lost Boy; I get a real kick out of reading them.

This time I'm going to alternate between Gibbs and Tony's experiences, but the first few chapters will be mostly Gibbs until he gets caught up with the timeline of TLB.

Hope you like this one too...

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Lost III: Lost in Transit

Chapter 1: The Living Dead

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Gibbs waited for Morrow's reaction to his discovery, wondering if he was going to tell him to get some kind of therapy.

"Are you sure about this, Jethro? It couldn'tve just been someone else's toothbrush?"

"I swabbed the one Tony kept in his desk, sir. No one else would have used it; everyone knows about his diet. Pizza, candy, Chinese food and burritos."

Morrow grimaced. "True, but I'll need more evidence than one toothbrush swab before I consider looking into it."

"I'll get Abby some more reference samples. And with your permission, I'd like McGee to start looking into the computer records."

The Director considered this. "Very well. But I want it kept strictly need to know. Abby and McGee only."

"Ducky could be helpful too, sir. There could be some inconsistency in his autopsy from the medical records; a broken bone in the wrong place..."

"Ducky is the most thorough ME I've ever met; especially on a case like this. If he had any doubts, they would have been raised at the time. No; just the four of us."

"Kate and Ducky aren't going to like it."

"Too bad. Best not to raise too many hopes." Morrow thought for a moment. "If you're right… Who do you suspect?"

"Abby says the records could only have been changed by an expert hacker or one of the agencies. My bet's on one of the A's. DiNozzo has undercover skills that they'd be happy to kill for."

"I wouldn't put it past them. But I am not going to make any enquiries until it is proved beyond a doubt that you're right on this one, Jethro."

"I'm not making this up, Director."

"I believe you; but thousands wouldn't. If you want to look into this, I am going to need hard proof that DiNozzo didn't die in that car accident."

"Special Agent Fornell owes me a favour; and I know he has contacts everywhere."

"You trust him?"

"I don't trust anyone, sir. But for this... yes. He won't lie to me, at least."

"Doesn't stop his contacts lying to him; you need to keep at least a little objectivity."

"Yes, sir."

Morrow shot him a reproachful look. "Don't lie to your CO, Gibbs; we both know if you get even a sniff of DiNozzo you'll hunt him like a rabid dog."

Gibbs gave a little half smile as he rose, choosing wisely to plead the fifth and say nothing as he left. With mingled concern and pleasure, Morrow reflected that it was the first smile he'd seen from him in two months.

And he really, really hoped Gibbs was right; because there was no way the former Marine would be able to go through this again.

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When Gibbs arrived back in Abby's lab, he found her in the center of a shocked circle of Kate, Ducky and McGee.

"Are you absolutely sure about this, Abby?" Asked Kate gently. "We all know that Gibbs has been a little... unbalanced, since we lost Tony."

"Unbalanced?" Said McGee. "More like psycotic. I've been walking on eggshells since he came back from his leave."

Gibbs kept his face absolutely expressionless as he walked silently behind McGee and smacked him firmly round the back of the head.

"DNA does not lie," McGee, he said.

"Um, right, boss... I mean, Gibbs... I mean, sorry about the whole, um, I mean... I won't ever say anything like that again. I won't even think about letting it cross my mind."

"Stop babbling and get to work, McGee! I want to know who's been messing with the personnel records. Abby, help him. Kate, Ducky, you're not supposed to be in the loop on this so go work on whatever it was you were doing before Abby called you down here. Abbs, I'm going to get you some more reference samples from Tony's gear; and then I have a meeting to set up."

"Jethro..." Ducky ventured, hesitantly, seeing the sudden energy that had been so conspicuous in its absence since Tony's 'death'. "I don't wish to sound negative, but..."

"Something's hinky, Duck. I'm going to get to the bottom of it, whether Tony's alive or not." He turned his patented glare on the three younger agents.

"What, you waiting for an engraved invitation?" He made a shooing motion with one hand. "Go!"

There were a trio of "yes, boss's" as he strode away, praying silently that both Ducky and Morrow were wrong.

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Gibbs handed over the spare coffee he carried and took a seat on the park bench beside Fornell to watch the ducks chugging across the still surface of the lake before them.

"Tobias."

"Jethro. You sounded pretty urgent on the phone; what's the problem?"

"Same as always; DiNozzo," said Gibbs with a fond half smile. "He's alive."

Fornell choked on his coffee. When he'd got his breath back, he managed to reply to his friend's statement.

"What? How d'you know?"

"I got Abby to run DNA from the body against an independent sample of his. No match; so the records must've been altered."

"Are you sure it was his?"

"Swab of the toothbrush he kept in his desk. No one who knew his eating habits would even think about borrowing it."

"You're really serious about this, aren't you. Jethro, I know how much you cared about him; is your judgement really gonna be reliable on this one?"

"If it wasn't his body in that car, then he must be out there somewhere, Tobias. And I've lost two months looking for him."

"And if you're wrong?"

"I'm not. I knew there was something not right; and now I've got something to back it up."

"That's not exactly comforting. I know you; and I know you're not above fabricating evidence to get a result you like; not in a case like this."

"I do not fabricate evidence. I lie, I threaten, I use sleight of hand to deceive, occasionally I let a suspect force my trigger finger. But I have never corrupted the integrity of evidence. And I give you my word, Tobias, I'm not doing it now." He let the FBI agent read the truth from his eyes.

Fornell nodded slightly in acknowledgement. "OK. Who do you suspect?"

"Everyone; no one can piss people off like Tony. But Abby thinks it was probably one of the agencies." He raised an eyebrow questioningly at the FBI agent.

"Hey, I don't know anything!" He protested. "If it was us, they never told me anything. You honestly think I could have sat there and watched you fall apart over a kid who wasn't really dead?"

"Not without me noticing. But someone out there has. They must have a real set of brass ones to pull something like this off on a federal agent."

"You thinking CIA or NSA?"

"With his skills? Could be anyone. Any chance you could call in a few favours and see if you can get me any intell?"

"I could try; don't know how far I'll get before someone figures it out. If they were watching you, they'd know I've been helping out."

"Then do it quietly, Tobias. Must be a spook somewhere who owes you their ass."

"One or two," he admitted. "But if this is a black op…"

"If it wasn't, I'dve heard something about it by now. I've got McGee and Abby trying to hack some evidence before I take it to Morrow."

"Jethro… you do realise that after two months, chances are you'll never find him; even if he is alive."

"I'll find him if it takes me two years, Tobias."

"But if he is out there, surely he'dve found a way to contact you by now..."

"He could be locked up somewhere. He could've been told we'll be killed if he tries to contact us. Hell, he could be in living in a yurt in Outer Mongolia for all we know."

"And if he's dead?"

"Then I'll find whoever's responsible; and they will pay. You're not going to talk me out of this, Tobias. I don't care what happens to me; Tony's my responsibility and I'm going to find him if it kills me."

"And what about the rest of your team? Don't they need you too?"

"None of them have been missing for two months while I was sitting on my ass feeling sorry for myself, Fornell."

"Will you at least promise not to do anything stupid until we have some solid intell?"

"What, you mean like shove my sig in the face of the director of the CIA until he tells me where Tony is? No; I'm not that desperate. Yet."

Fornell played that particular scenario through his head and winced. "Then I'd better hurry up and get you some information."

"Yeah; you do that, Fornell."

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Mostly reaction to Tony's undeath in this chapter. Let me know what you thought.


	2. The DiNozzo Code

Disclaimer: I don't own it

A/N: So many thanks for your reviews once again, guys. 22 for a first chapter!

Hope you like this one too...

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Chapter 2: The DiNozzo Code

Abby was trying desperately to stay positive. She'd run several more comparisons on reference samples from Tony's stuff, like a swab from his razor, and a hair from his jacket. All of them matched the original toothbrush sample; but not the database records for Anthony DiNozzo.

At first, she'd been overjoyed at this hard evidence that Tony hadn't died in that car crash; and she still was, really. But... it had been two weeks since then, and all they'd found was that whoever took Tony was very, very good at covering their tracks. Even with McGee's help, Abby knew that the chances of tracking down the location of the people who'd changed the records were almost zero.

It didn't stop her trying, of course. Abby loved Tony; he was one of her best friends.

The Goth hadn't been sure about him at first. He'd spent more time examining her tattoos – and her legs (although she didn't mind that; there was a reason she wore miniskirts to work) – than he had the evidence. To Abby, anyone without an obsessive interest in forensics didn't deserve to be in law enforcement. Gibbs had told her that Tony had hidden depths; and she did rather like having someone around who actually got her pop culture references, so she gave him a chance. And then one day, when she was sure he was admiring the sizable gap between her white knee length socks and pleated plaid skirt, he'd almost absentmindedly asked a question about striations on bullets from automatic versus semiautomatic weapons that proved he had actually known what she was talking about all along.

Abby had been trying for years to figure out why Tony tried so hard to appear dumber than he was. OK, so being known for intelligence was not a recipe for popularity; as her own high school days had taught her. But still, Tony was cheerful and fun loving and very good looking; he could have pulled it off.

Her current thinking was that Tony wanted to fit in with the other jocks; to be rich, and smart, and athletic, and hot could only be a recipe for jealousy. Maybe that could compete with having deaf parents, loving the weird and unusual and living next to the junkyard.

Abby slurped at the dregs of her Caff Pow and sighed deeply, twirling a pigtail around one finger. She was worried about Gibbs. He was getting more desperate by the day; pretty soon, he was going to take a stupid risk to try to get some new leads. Stan Burley had returned to fill in as Senior Field Agent TAD; Kate was very frustrated that she had to act as his babysitter to keep him away from the lab, especially since they started taking new cases again. It meant she couldn't be actively involved in the search; she couldn't even acknowledge that she knew about it.

"Made any progress, Abbs?" Asked McGee, returning to the lab with a fresh soda for her and coffee for himself.

"Nope. The firewall's still holding up." She replied glumly.

"Did you try changing the algorithm?"

"Of course I did, McGee!" she snapped. "I might not have gone to MIT but I know what I'm doing!"

"I know you do; I wasn't trying to..."

"I know. I'm sorry, Tim. It's just... it's been two weeks, and there's.. nothing. Tony needs us to be better than this."

"Hey, Tony would know that we'd try our best to help him, Abby. He'd understand."

"You mean he _will_ understand, when we get him home."

"Of course that's what I meant. I'm just... I only just got used to talking about him in the past tense; it's kinda hard to change back again."

Abby sat up straight, a thought striking her distinctly illogical brain. "Ooh; if Tony was dead, and now he's not, does that technically make him a zombie?"

McGee considered this for a moment. "I can't see Tony wandering round going 'uuuurgh' and eating people's brains, Abbs. He's more the vampire type."

"They definitely have more style," she agreed. "I can see him in tails, with a waistcoat, cravat, maybe a cape, fangs..."

They looked at one another and burst out laughing.

"Oh..." Abby got her breath back and then sobered. "When was the last time you laughed, McGee? Really laughed?" She asked wistfully.

"We haven't had much to laugh about lately, Abbs. Why?"

"The last time I laughed, Tony was telling me about one of the jobs he had in college."

"Tony worked through college? I thought his family were rich?"

"They are; but Tony got cut off from the money when he was twelve. He got fifty bucks allowance a month and his school fees paid until he was graduated; that was it. He had to get a partial sports scholarship for college and worked part time to make ends meet. He did all kinds of things; auto repair, construction, bartending when he was old enough. Anyway, he was doing a stint as a waiter in a Pizzeria when a bunch of guys come in and he overhears that they're a basketball team OSU are due to play the next day."

"So what did he do?"

"Nothing; until one of them called the Ohio State basketball team 'a bunch of losers they scraped out of the gutter'. Then, he spiked their drinks with laxatives and put out of order signs on all but one of the toilet stalls."

"Sounds like Tony. 'S not the same around here without him."

"Then we better get on with finding out who took him, Timmy," replied Abby, with fresh determination, taking a long drink from her new Caff Pow and turning back to the computer.

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Several hours and two more sodas later, Abby stood and stretched her aching muscles. She'd made almost no progress; McGee had been tied up with Gibbs most of the afternoon, leaving her alone. Her computer chirped, indicating an incoming email. Lazily, she clicked it open, still standing, thinking it could be from McGee on their search.

What she found was much more important.

To: _Mistress of the Dark _

_Tell your Silver Fox Spanky says hi. And don't let my mangy Shitzu bite acid barrel boy too hard, that's your job. Hope Contessa and Tyson aren't causing Mrs M any trouble; I'm not around to play Italian furniture mover gigolo dog groomer these days._

_The White Whale is back; and he's got intelligent company. _

_Don't shoot Fiver, Gibbs-rah._

As soon as she'd read the words 'Silver Fox,' Abby reached for the phone with suddenly trembling hands, punching in speed dial one by pure muscle memory.

"Gibbs."

"I need you down here right now," she managed.

"Abby? Something wrong?"

Her laughter was choked with tears. "Wrong? No. I just got an email from Tony."

He'd hung up before she could even smile. Tony was alive; and Gibbs was going to bring him home.

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Gibbs read the message over Abby's shoulder, squinting slightly. The very first line arrested his eyes. Spanky... that was a private joke between them that to his knowledge, Tony had never told anyone about.

McGee stared up at the plasma. "Acid barrel boy... The first case we ever worked together, with the submariner dumped in a vat of acid to prevent him being identified..."

Kate elbowed past Tim to read the screen too. "Mangy shitzu... when he was missing on the White case, Tony told a bystander he had a mangy looking shitzu called Kate..."

Ducky read the message in wonderment. "Contessa and Tyson... Two of Mother's Corgis... and I know she accused Anthony of being a gigolo, and a furniture mover, and made him bath the dogs..."

"The White Whale..." Gibbs felt a familiar rage start to build in him. "Ari."

"Intelligent company," added McGee. "He's talking about the CIA."

"Anyone know what the last line means?" Gibbs asked.

"Watership Down," said Abby.

"The Richard Adams novel?" Asked McGee incredulously.

"The classic animated movie adaptation, McGee; Tony and I watched it together one time. Fiver is one of the characters, the little smart bunny who sees the future; and 'rah' means chief rabbit."

On cue everyone looked at Gibbs and tried unsuccessfully to picture him as a cute fluffy bunny rabbit.

Gibbs only smiled. "He's telling me not to shoot the messenger."

The room practically hummed with a single collective thought. _This is it_. Only Tony could know all this; and only Tony would dare call Gibbs 'Chief Rabbit'. The thought filled the very air with relief, with joy and hope so strong it was almost painful.

_This is our hard proof. Tony is alive; and God sure as hell can't help Ari and the CIA if they've harmed a hair on his head._

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I wanted to do an Abby heavy chapter; she hasn't been in this series nearly enough. Hope you liked it.


	3. Conspiracy Theory

Disclaimer: I don't own it

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A/N: Once again, I am blown away by your response to my story. 23 reviews each for the first 2 chapters? Usually I'm lucky to get 15! Many, many thanks to all of you; I really hope you like this one as much.

This is a bit odd; it's from an outsider's perspective, you might say. But hopefully it works. Begins shortly after the DNA test.

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Chapter 3: Conspiracy Theory

There was something going on.

Stan Burley had been suspicious when he first arrived; but now he was certain. Gibbs had been acting weird since he'd got there; there was a secret within the team he wasn't in on.

Stan had stepped into the bullpen a little nervously after over four years away; but it had hardly changed. The desks had been rearranged slightly, many had different occupants, the walls were suddenly bright orange, but the biggest difference was the quiet. OK, so it was 06:45 but even then Gibbs was always there when Stan arrived; it was odd seeing the room without him. Stan approached his old desk, expecting to sit down; and stopped, when he saw that it was apparently still occupied.

The surface was covered in untidy stacks of files that the neat freak inside him itched to straighten, a coffee mug that probably represented a serious public health hazard, a calendar with assorted bikini clad girls, various stickers and toys; all generously coated with a layer of dust. It was odd; surely DiNozzo's family would have wanted some of this. And why hadn't Gibbs cleared his old desk before he got there?

Stan thought back to the young man he'd worked with briefly, almost two years ago. DiNozzo had seemed a competent agent; obviously insecure about his job; but with Gibbs, everyone was. And clearly, Gibbs rather liked him; very few made it as long on his team as Tony had.

"Remembering the old days, Stan?" The familiar voice was terse as always as Gibbs strode in, coffee in hand.

"Uh, yeah, actually, Boss," replied Stan, caught off guard. He was shocked by how bad Gibbs looked; older than he remembered, thinner; almost haggard. Hell, he'd looked better when he was chasing Kyle Boone.

Gibbs grunted. "What are you doing back?"

Oh, crap, Stan thought, feeling the familiar churning start in his gut. "The Director didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"He called a couple weeks back; told me what happened and asked me to come back TAD for a while. I assumed you'd agreed to the idea."

"Did he now," said Gibbs, dangerously quietly, heading for the stairs to MTAC.

Stan was left standing alone in the bullpen, while his former boss went to try and get rid of him.

Knowing Gibbs, he'd probably get what he wanted.

A few minutes later, a young man entered the group of desks, dropping a backpack beside one of them.

"Can I help you?" He asked, a little uncertainly.

"No; I'm OK, thanks." He offered a hand. "Special Agent Stan Burley; I used to work for Gibbs."

The kid took the proffered hand. "Tim McGee. I've been on the team about a year now. So, are you just visiting, or..."

"Actually, the Director asked me to fill in as Senior Field Agent for a while." McGee stiffened.

"_You're_ Tony's replacement?"

"Well, not permanently; I'm just TAD. I met Special Agent DiNozzo; he was a good man. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." The kid still looked suspicious. "Did Gibbs know about this?"

Stan grimaced. "He stormed up to the Director's office when I told him; so I might not be here very long."

"Did he have coffee?"

"Yes; so I don't think we need to worry about him getting fired."

"Who's getting fired?" Asked Kate, stepping around the partition. "Oh my God; Stan, is that you?"

"Hi, Kate; good to see you."

"What are you doing here?"

"He's replacing Tony," said McGee, seriously. Kate's smile vanished; her eyes met her team-mate's, clearly exchanging some silent message.

"Purely TAD," Stan reassured her hurriedly. "Assuming Gibbs doesn't talk the Director into sending me home. Achoo!"

"Bless you," said Kate automatically.

"Thanks. Achoo!" Stan produced a neatly pressed handkerchief and blew his nose. "I think I'm allergic to this little mould garden." He reached for the cup. "Anyone mind if I wash this?"

Just before his fingertips touched the dusty ceramic, an iron fist closed around his wrist.

Stan found himself looking into the steely blue eyes he remembered so well. Even red rimmed and bloodshot, they still had the power to scare the crap out of him.

"Yes, Stan, we do," said Gibbs, softly but with a definite edge. "No one touches Tony's desk; we clear?"

"Crystal, boss," Stan managed.

"Good." Gibbs released him and turned away towards his own chair. "Kate! Get him a desk. McGee, get with Abby; I want some progress on that project and I want it yesterday."

McGee fled; Kate gave Stan a look that wasn't quite sympathetic and Gibbs began to work laboriously on his computer.

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That had pretty much set the tone for the next week and a half. McGee spent most of his time in the lab working on his mysterious project; whenever Stan asked, he was told it was need to know. McGee obviously resented his presence; the older agent could only conclude that he'd been close to DiNozzo. It was hard to imagine the introverted computer geek being friendly with someone so protective of his position as Gibbs' second; he and Kate had been constantly competing. How could McGee have coped with that kind of pressure?

It was infuriating to know there was a secret he wasn't in on; clearly, the Project was important, and the rest of the team were all in the loop. Even Ducky knew what was going on; but when he tried to get information out of the ME, all Stan discovered was a long and rambling story that may or may not have involved a Guatemalan witch doctor, a machete, six monkey skulls and some overripe melons. Ducky could dissemble with the best of them when he chose.

Most of the time, Stan was left with Kate while Gibbs vanished for hours at a time without explanation other than a curt 'out'. The former Secret Service Agent was clearly uncomfortable with keeping the Big Something from him; mostly because it left her in the middle. Still, she knew how to play the game too; any enquiries were met only with a polite apology. Even Abby was closed mouth about her Project; no matter how glad she was to see him.

Even on the cases they were given, Gibbs was... distracted. It wasn't that he didn't care about closing them; he just had other things on his mind.

Stan was certain now. The Gibbs he saw was not Bereaved Gibbs; one he'd met more than once when other agents had died on the job. No, this was Obsessive Gibbs, in all his single-minded intensity. The whole team seemed to be helping; McGee and Abby most of all. But as far as Stan could tell, they weren't making much progress. Gibbs was getting more and more frustrated and snappy; even compared with his normal behaviour.

Stan had caught him staring at the empty desk that used to be his own; whatever his obsession, it involved DiNozzo. Perhaps he thought the car accident had been staged somehow? Could it be that there were question marks over Tony's death?

And then Gibbs was shaken from his reverie by his phone.

"Gibbs." Stan watched his expression closely; he'd got pretty good at reading his boss over the years. The familiar face went from blank to... Concerned? Even a touch of dread?

"Abby? Something wrong?" Instantly, both Kate and McGee were paying as much attention as Stan.

Then as he listened to her response, Gibbs' eyes widened. Shock was dominant; but there was something else there too. Satisfaction? Pride? Relief? Maybe even... joy?

He hung up almost immediately and was moving before he spoke again.

"Kate, McGee, with me."

When Burley rose to follow, Gibbs didn't even turn his head.

"Stan, hold the fort."

Burley sank back into his hair automatically; and then cursed himself for doing so. He was the Senior Field Agent; he'd spent more time with Gibbs than either of the others and still he was excluded from their investigation. Why? What could be so secret that he couldn't be trusted with it? And what the hell had DiNozzo ever done to earn such devotion?

Stan considered going to the Director briefly. But what if he wasn't in the know either? He could blow Gibbs' Project out of the water; and clearly, it was vitally important.

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to ask Gibbs himself...

"Listen, boss; there's something I need to ask you..."

"No. There isn't," replied Gibbs flatly.

"I know you're looking into something you don't want me to know about. What I don't know is what it is and why I'm out of the loop. I can help, Gibbs; and you know you can trust me..."

"Not with this. It's need to know; you don't. Quit asking and let my team work."

"I'm part of your team, Gibbs!"

"Not any more." Gibbs strode away without a backwards glance.

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Screw need to know, thought Stan angrily. I'm going to find out what they're up to.

Abby's lab was in silence when he snuck up to the glass door, careful to keep away from the pressure pads that would cause it to swish open. He listened hard, trying to figure out what was going on; the team were just standing around, looking stunned but happy.

Predictably, Gibbs recovered first.

"McGee! I want that email traced. Kate, grab the gear: I want us ready to roll in thirty minutes. Abbs, get me a printout; I'm going to see Morrow. Duck, distract Burley; he's been asking too many questions and we can't risk him figuring out what we're doing."

"I don't think that will be possible, Jethro, the elderly Englishman stated, his eyes fixed on the man watching through the glass."

The five conspirators stared at their theoretical team mate; until the silence was broken by the ringing of Gibbs' cell.

"Yeah, Gibbs." He listened for a moment and then said, "I'll be right there."

He held out a hand and had the printout of Tony's message pressed into it by a shell-shocked Abby. "Where are you going, Gibbs?" Asked Kate.

"MTAC. Apparently, the Director of the CIA wants to talk to me."

"But what should we do about Stan?" Abby called after him.

Gibbs was already gone, brushing past his former agent without a pause.

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What did you think? I really wanted an overview of the team between the DNA test and the email; and Stan needed some attention, considering he's meant to be replacing Tony.

Stay tuned for Gibbs' conversation with the CIA next week...


	4. Negotiation

Disclaimer: I don't own it

A/N: Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry sorry! This chapter is over a week late and I'm still not completely happy with it. I've had terrible writer's block and broken plumbing and crazy busy work and... well, you know when everything just goes wrong at the same time?

It's just been one of those weeks. Many thanks to those who reviewed; hope you like this one too.

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Chapter 4: Negotiation

Gibbs scanned himself into the dim videoconference suite and found Morrow waiting, with only one tech operating the equipment for security purposes. The Director of the CIA, James Freeman, was already on screen and waiting for him. Gibbs assessed him in a glance; white, middle aged, designer suit, narrow set eyes, expression carefully blank; a born politician. Gibbs hated politicians.

"Special Agent Gibbs," said Morrow. "I take it there has been a development."

"Damn right there has," Gibbs growled, striding past him to confront the image. "Where is he?"

"To whom are you referring, Agent Gibbs?" Asked Freeman, coolly.

"You know damn well _whom_, Director," Gibbs all but spat. "Where the hell is my agent?"

"Special Agent DiNozzo is on a deep cover operation for us. Any information I release could compromise his safety."

"What operation?"

"Avery important and highly classified one. The only reason I'm talking to you at all is that I know you've figured out your man is alive, Gibbs. We've been keeping a close watch on your team."

"Should've kept a closer one on Tony. If this mission is so secret you had to fake his death before he could take it on, how did he manage to send us a coded email?"

"DiNozzo didn't send that message, Gibbs. We do know who did send it and where from; what we don't know is what most of it means."

"It means that Tony's in trouble; and I am still waiting for an explanation, here."

"DiNozzo's mission is complex. I can not read you in over an MTAC feed."

"Then do it in person."

"I can't. You don't have clearance for this, Gibbs..."

"And Ari Haswari does? A murderer, spy and double agent?" Freeman hesitated slightly.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Agent Gibbs, but I believe you've been all of those things in your time. What makes you think Haswari is involved?"

Gibbs held up the email. "A White Whale told me. If DiNozzo didn't send this message, it must've been left as an SOS. Is he alive?"

"I really can't discuss this operation with you, Gibbs."

"And apparently, not with me, either, James," Morrow interjected. "You never thought to inform me before you kidnapped one of my best people?"

"Special Agent DiNozzo was given a choice, Tom; and he chose to serve his country by helping us."

"And you would have explained this top secret mission to him and just let him say no?" Asked Morrow disbelievingly.

"Up to a point, yes. Look, all this is irrelevant; I need to know what that message means, Gibbs."

"Tony's missing, isn't he?" Said Gibbs, slowly. "Something went wrong; and you have no idea where he is. You don't even know if he's dead or alive; and you definitely don't know if he's completed his mission."

The CIA Director's eyes flickered down. It was enough.

"Then you need my help. I know DiNozzo better than anyone else alive. If anyone can find him, it's my team."

"Absolutely not, Gibbs. Your team have even lower security clearances than you do."

"Yankee White is low-level clearance now?" Gibbs stepped closer to the screen. "How many people do you have who know how both Ari and DiNozzo operate?" He demanded. "You need our help, Director; and we need my Senior Field Agent back."

Two pairs of blue eyes locked across the video feed; if looks could fry pixels, there'd be smoking holes in both screens.

"All right, Gibbs," said Freeman, at last. "Get your team and all your gear to the Hoover building ASAP. I'll have a chopper waiting."

"The FBI are in on this?"

"No; they just look less suspicious than us meeting in one of our own buildings. We don't know if there's anyone else watching you. You'll be briefed when you get there."

"We'll be there. And your briefing better be damn good."

Freeman looked away from the steely gaze and made a cut motion to his tech without replying. Gibbs' cell rang just as the screen went dark.

"Gibbs."

"Boss, I got the location. The email was sent from an address in the Dominican Republic."

"Then you should pack a Hawaiian shirt, McGee. All of you have an hour to go home and get your stuff; we're moving out at 1000 hours." He snapped his phone shut.

"I'll leave Stan to cover the office, Director; but I'm taking Abby and Ducky. I have a feeling I'm gonna need them."

"I'll arrange for some forensic temps to fill in. Good luck, Special Agent Gibbs," said Morrow.

"Thank you, sir." The field agent turned towards the door.

"Jethro?" He hesitated. "Bring our boy home safe."

"_**I will." **_

Never have two words been said with such determination.

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When Gibbs arrived back in the bullpen, he found a very pissed off Stan Burley waiting for him.

"What's going on, Gibbs? Can you tell me yet, since clearly even McGee is in on it?"

"We're going on a trip," said Gibbs tersely, sitting at his desk and rummaging for his keys.

"I gathered that; by the way the others scrambled home to pack after that phone call. Why are we going to the Caribbean, Gibbs?"

"You're not going anywhere, Stan. Director needs you to cover for us in the office." Gibbs had his drawer unlocked and began to load his weapon.

"So you're leaving your Senior _Field_ Agent at home while you run off on some exotic top secret mission with a computer geek, one competent agent and two forensic techs?"

Gibbs holstered his gun and spare clips and rose to stare straight into his eyes. "You're not my Senior Field Agent, Burley; you're just TAD."

"This has to do with DiNozzo, doesn't it? Dammit, Gibbs; you need me..."

"No, Stan; what I need is for you to obey orders," said Gibbs, dangerously quietly. "Now, can you do that? Or do I have to send you back to sea?"

Gibbs counted silently in his head until Stan caved, as he knew he would. He'd only ever had one agent who could truly stand up to him.

"I can, Boss," said Stan, recognising a lost cause with a sigh around eight. Gibbs nodded slightly; it was a new record for him.

Stan followed as he headed for the elevator. "What should I tell people, Gibbs?" He asked, as the older man stepped in.

"The truth, Stan. You don't know anything."

_And maybe_, he thought as the steel doors sealed shut, _that'll be enough to keep you out of the CIA _and _Ari's firing lines. I just wish I didn't have to put the others in it; but I daren't leave anyone behind. At least if I can see them I know they're safe; and DiNozzo needs all the help he can get. _

Gibbs allowed his eyes to drift closed briefly.

_Hold on, Tony; we're coming for you._

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The team sat silently in the FBI's tasteful executive briefing room, awaiting the CIA agents who were going to fill them in. They'd been there ten minutes already; and worse, Gibbs had finished his coffee.

Finally, an older man and an attractive brunette walked in.

"About time," grunted Gibbs.

"We were about to board a flight to the Dominican Republic when we got the call to come here, Agent Gibbs," said the man, annoyed. "I am Agent Fisher; this is Agent Boyd. Director Freeman asked us to fill you in on the mission and take you with us."

"Then talk," Gibbs commanded. "We're wasting time DiNozzo doesn't have." Fisher looked distinctly ruffled about being ordered around by a mere NCIS agent, while Gibbs just glared.

"Special Agent DiNozzo's mission was to gain the confidence of a half Italian drug smuggler named Carmine Fuentes," said Boyd, trying to defuse the tension between the pair.

"Why Tony?" Asked Abby. "I'm sure there's _someone _already working for you who can speak Italian. Why'd you have to take him from us?" Ducky put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"DiNozzo was ideal for the task, miss Scutio; and the mission's importance meant we needed the best," Fisher informed her firmly.

"And I suppose our old friend Ari recommended him for old time's sake?" Gibbs interrupted.

Fisher shot him a glare and then uttered the next sentence in almost a whisper.

"Fuentes was being employed by Al Quaeda to help them smuggle a nuclear weapon into the US."

"Wow," said Kate, quietly, into the sudden ringing silence.

"I'm sure you now realise the reason for all the secrecy, Agent Todd," said Boyd. "DiNozzo had to get close to Fuentes in order to discover the details of the delivery. After spending some weeks in training, he was flown out to the Caribbean as part of a five man team."

"At first, it seemed to be going well. Agent DiNozzo quickly ingratiated himself with Fuentes and was actually on board his yacht, the _Isabella_, when it collected the bomb. The boat and DiNozzo were both well bugged; the team's computer expert was tracking them while the other three members intercepted the boat."

"And then?" Asked Gibbs.

"And then... we lost all of the tracking and recording devices at once, just as the vessels converged, said Fisher reluctantly.

"A jammer?" Asked McGee.

"We believe so," said Boyd. "About forty minutes later, we received the emergency code from Sigma Five, the land based computer expert. There's been nothing from any of our operatives since."

"It's likely that the other four are already dead," said Fisher. "And we have no idea where the bomb is."

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I know we already knew most of this from TLB; but it needed to be broken to the team. And they were always going to fight with the CIA.

I may rewrite bits of this if I have time; let me know what you liked and what you think I should change.


	5. Conflicting Philosophies

Disclaimer: I don't own it

A/N: Once again, I am blown away by people's responses to this story, especially since it was for a chapter I don't really like. This one flowed a lot better. And keep an eye out for the return of our favourite character...

Maxennce...

I agree with you about the anger. There's a bit more in this chapter. I also agree with you about the explaination for Tony's faked death. That's in here too.

We don't have a clue what Gibbs did on Special Operations for NCIS or with the Marines. We know he was an assassin, and that he did surveillance ops with Jenny in Europe (which counts as spying in my book). Who says he never posed as a double agent? Gibbs could pull it off.

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Chapter 5: Conflicting Philosophies

"_It's likely that the other four are already dead," said Fisher. "And we have no idea where the bomb is."_

"You're wrong," said Gibbs, unexpectedly. "DiNozzo's not dead. Ari's a sadistic bastard; if he was going to kill one of my people he'd want me to know he was responsible."

"You think Haswari betrayed us?" Said Fisher. "Impossible. He's very highly placed inside Mossad..."

"Yeah; and the only source we have inside Al Quaeda. Ever wonder why that is?"

"It's very difficult, Gibbs..."

"Ari did it, didn't he? But he could tell us Bin Laden was sitting in the President's basement and we'd have no way of proving him wrong."

Kate backed up her Boss with logic. "With this level of secrecy, there must be a mole somewhere for this to happen. Ari is the obvious candidate."

"We'll see what his control officer says about that when we get there," said Boyd. "Now, we can continue this on the plane; but we need to get moving."

"As soon as you've explained one last thing," Gibbs interrupted. "Why'd DiNozzo have to die for you to do this? Why not just borrow him for a while?"

"Would you have agreed to that, Agent Gibbs? One of your people, working a case you couldn't even know the details of thousands of miles away?" Asked Fisher. "We had to fake DiNozzo's death; and we had to do it well, to keep you from finding out about the op."

"Then why the hell didn't you just tell me all this in the first place?!" Gibbs got right up in Fisher's face, intimidatingly close as the stubborn CIA agent replied.

"Because you're too good, Gibbs! You think you haven't been noticed? That your activities aren't monitored? If you knew, you'dve insisted on being involved and the mission could have been compromised. You caused enough trouble vanishing off the face of the Earth for two weeks. We did what we had to do to make this mission work." Gibbs refused to back down.

"Yeah; and look how that turned out!" He all but yelled. "You've lost four agents, including DiNozzo, and your nuke! You even know what the target is?" Fisher responded with equal aggression.

"That was completely beyond our control! And there's no proof anyone betrayed us; how do you know it wasn't your precious Tony who screwed up?"

"I don't! But I know he's a damn good agent; and he'd never risk a mission this big."

Gibbs leaned impossibly closer, shifting unconsciously into a fighting stance. "Dammit, that bastard Ari is behind this!"

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs!"

Ducky's voice cut across what looked to be imminent violence and restored silence to the room as both Gibbs and Fisher turned to look at him.

"Laying the blame when we have none of the facts is a pointless waste of time; time that can be much better spent finding Tony. Now stop shouting and get a grip!"

Gibbs looked uncomfortable for a moment as he realised the truth of Ducky's words.

Then he turned to his team. "Well? You heard him. Why are you still here?" He strode out, scrubbing a hand through his silver hair as he tried to regain his composure. The others followed; but Ducky hesitated a moment when Boyd spoke to him.

"Dr Mallard; thank you for that. I thought I'd have to start shooting the ceiling."

"You are quite welcome, my dear. I do apologise for Jethro's behaviour, Agent Fisher; but I'm afraid I can't disagree with the sentiment. Haswari held me hostage, shot both Jethro and Gerald, abducted Caitlyn, and has made threats to Anthony's life. In my opinion, death's too good for him."

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Tony had been stuffed into the back of the swelteringly hot van with the crated bomb, tied hand and foot. Just think, he mused ironically. I had to die to get to this nuke and now I'm six inches away and can't do a thing about it.

Three of Ari's men were in there with him; they talked quietly amongst themselves in what Tony assumed was Arabic. He estimated they'd been driving along rutted dirt roads for about two hours when the vehicle ground to a halt. The back doors opened and blinding sunlight spilled inside. With a few terse commands from Ari, Tony was manhandled out of the van and into a perfectly ordinary looking two storey house on a small rise in the ground, surrounded by swampy brush. He was escorted into a small, bare storeroom on the ground floor and retied to a chair.

Tony tested his bonds carefully; Ari's people were a lot smarter than the CIA. The chair was a sturdy wooden thing, impossible to rock, and the single window was boarded over; it was dark, airless and close. It smelled of mould and damp; as if the house had flooded recently. He could hardly move, let alone try to escape. For the hundredth time in nine hours, he wished ferverently for his knife. He worked at the ropes for a while; but all he got for his trouble were badly chafed wrists. He'd given up by the time Ari entered, bearing a bottle of water and a small first aid kit.

"You have a lovely home here, Ari," said Tony, through parched lips. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything since Ari's arrival the previous night and it was already almost a hundred degrees in the shade outside. "Can't say much for your hosting skills, though."

"I apologise for the discomfort, Anthony. Here; let me take a look at that scrape on your forehead..."

Tony jerked away as Ari reached out towards his face.

"No offence, but I'd rather die of blood poisoning."

"Oh, but you are already dead to the world, my friend; who would ever know?"

"You would. How does a doctor get so good at killing people, anyway? 'Cos I'm pretty sure there's something against that in the Hippocratic oath."

"Hippocrates was a great man; the father of modern medicine. I have never aspired so high. My father sent me to medical school so I could work with my mother in the Gaza camps; it was never my choice."

"Then why didn't you drop out?"

"And give up six whole years in Scotland, thousands of miles away from him?"

"Something Mommy taught you? To hate your father?"

"There are few Muslim women who become doctors. Even fewer who are also single parents. My mother taught me how to hide who I was as soon as I was old enough to talk."

"Then why'd she name you Ari? Isn't it a dead giveaway, having an Israeli name?"

"Oh, yes. You see, while my father tried to raise me to be his mole inside Hamas, my mother wished me to be Hamas's mole inside Mossad."

"That must've made for awkward family reunions."

"My parents rarely spoke. My mother always knew he'd have her killed eventually, to pave my way into Hamas."

"You seriously believe your father had your mother killed?"

"Almost five years ago now. It was a... retaliatory... Israeli strike, on a day when I was in Tel Aviv, visiting him and my half sisters. I have no illusions; I was conceived to be my father's mole and groomed from birth to be just the opposite."

"Wow. I gotta hand it to you; that story could make a whole season of Jerry Springer. 'S no wonder you turned out to be such a sociopath." Ari laughed, genuinely amused.

"That word is just a convenient label for people who refuse to conform to convention, Anthony. I have no faith; I believe religion is only an excuse for people to indulge their baser instincts for violence and hatred. Why should I choose a side, when I can dance on the razor's edge, playing both sides against one another for my own benefit? Why should I care, if I cause the deaths of nameless, faceless people leading pointless, ordinary lives?"

"No life is worthless, Ari. Not even yours."

"Can you really believe that, Anthony? You were a policeman for eight years and an NCIS agent for almost four; have you never met a man who the world would have been better off without? Murderers, paedophiles, rapists; even terrorists?"

"Sure. But that isn't my decision to make."

"Then who should make it? God? Gibbs? A jury of their peers?"

"Justice," Tony answered thoughtfully. Ari's smile broadened.

"And what is justice? Where is it written, this is right, and this is wrong, and this is where the line falls?"

"Some things don't need to be written. They just are; just like rule number eleven."

"Rule number eleven? What is that?"

Tony replied by throwing himself forwards, head butting Haswari in the chest hard enough to see stars.

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Gibbs sighed as he leaned back into the CIA jet's comfortable upholstery. The others had been regarding him with caution since his altercation with Fisher. It wasn't that they weren't equally angry; Abby's glares had been sending the man scuttling every time he got near her. But he'd lost control; and they knew it.

Before that phone call that had started all this, Gibbs had self control that you could bend iron bars around. Since... his emotions had overcome it. All the pain of losing a child had flooded back and shattered him all over again.

And now... now, suddenly, there was hope. There was a chance, however slim, that he might get to see Tony again, to hear his voice, to take him on that damn trip to the cabin. Gibbs' gut told him Tony was alive; and he'd do whatever was necessary to get him back.

The worst part was, the logical part of his brain understood the CIA's position. Of course they shouldn'tve believed Haswari; but there was no doubt that DiNozzo was perfect for this mission. Low profile; few people had even heard of NCIS, let alone Anthony DiNozzo. He spoke Italian and Spanish with fluency, could carry off the bored rich kid role with ease and could charm virtually anyone into anything. Gibbs didn't doubt that it was his fault Tony had had to 'die'. He'd foiled enough terrorist plots to have been noticed; and it was well known he only worked with the best. His reputation for being rabid about finding those who hurt his people couldn'tve helped. It was his fault Abby had that look in her eyes for so long; that Kate sketched cheeky smiles from memory; that McGee could hardly look at Tony's desk.

Ducky slid into the seat beside him and offered a cup of hot brown water that might tentatively be called coffee.

"Not your usual brew, Jethro; but needs must when the devil drives."

"Yeah? He on this flight too?"

"Only in a purely figurative sense. Have you decided what our first move should be on our arrival?"

"Meet up with Ari's control officer. Check out the CIA team's hideout, contact their computer geek; and then figure out what the hell went wrong and where Ari took DiNozzo."

"I took the liberty of contacting a friend of mine; the Miami Dade Police Department ME. Alexandra has promised myself and Abby full access to their facilities, should we need them."

"Is there an ME anywhere you don't know, Duck?"

"Of course!" He exclaimed. "I have an extensive acquaintance among my chosen specialty; but I by no means know them all. We do have regular meetings; for some reason, most people consider medical examiners to be a little... eccentric. It's rather refreshing to be among peers."

Very carefully, Gibbs did not mention the fact that Ducky talked to corpses while he dissected them. As his old friend launched into a long and rambling story about some of the conventions he'd attended, he allowed his eyes to drift closed and slipped into a nap. There'd most likely be little time for sleep in the next few days, after all.

Ducky chattered on, watching his friend rest with satisfaction. This was probably the only way to persuade Jethro to relax enough to get some of the sleep he desperately needed. And Tony would certainly need him at his best if they were to bring down this plot – and Haswari - once and for all.

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I kinda liked this one; but let me know what you thought.


	6. David and David

Disclaimer: I don't own it

A/N: Once again, you guys rock! I love to read your reviews; especially in the week of the season premiere, when we're all very busy jumping up and down and going "SQUEE!!" (At least, I know I am.)

I rewatched Kill Ari II the other day and it turns out Ari actually was involved in a plot to make a nuke when he killed Kate. I swear, I never picked up on that before.

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Chapter 6: David and David

The fight hadn't lasted long. It didn't need to; Tony doubted he could take a Mossad trained spy mano a mano even if he wasn't tied to a chair, dehydrated and mildly concussed.

Ari had simply let the blow send him to the floor, rolled fluidly to his feet and then sent a single punch into Tony's already bruised stomach that left him gasping for breath, trying desperately not to puke.

The noise attracted one of Ari's henchmen; he was given a curt Arabic dismissal before the terrorist returned his attention to his captive.

"That was a foolish thing to do, Anthony," said Ari, rubbing his bruised sternum casually.

"Never was very smart," Tony managed. "I like to think... I make up for it with... my charm and sophistication."

"I think you are more intelligent than you pretend, my friend."

"Didn't I tell you not... to call me that?"

"I chose not to obey. You intrigue me, Special Agent DiNozzo."

"I get that a lot," he replied with false nonchalance.

"Tell me, Anthony," he said, opening the first aid kit and rummaging inside. "Why exactly did Gibbs choose to employ you? The other choices he has made I can understand; a highly trained Secret Service Agent, a very accomplished computer expert, a top forensics technician and a vastly experienced medical examiner." Ari knelt before Tony and opened the water bottle. Condensation was forming on the outside; but Tony knew he wouldn't be able to keep it down right now however thirsty he was.

"And then there is you," Ari continued, as he damped a cloth from the first aid kit and touched it gently to the swollen scrape on Tony's forehead. He turned his head away; but the doctor simply followed him as if nothing had happened. "A mere policeman, with no particularly special skills, no military experience except that obscenely overpriced academy you attended. All you seem to contribute are blind obedience, an extra gun and occasional undercover work. Yet you have been on Gibbs' team longer than any of the others. Why?"

Tony's face had closed as Ari spoke; he put on a bright, brittle smile.

"Did I mention charm and sophistication?"

Ari smiled. "Yes; but I don't believe either rank very highly on Gibbs' priority scale." He wrung out the cloth and rewet it to continue his ministrations as he spoke. "The obvious answer, of course, is that Gibbs did not employ you for your skills and qualifications. Which leads me to believe that he is rather fond of you for some reason. His reaction to your death seems to confirm it."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Tony replied flippantly. "D'you have any idea how much paperwork a dead agent generates? Let alone picking out a new one. I mean, the transfer forms alone..."

"Did you know Gibbs had a daughter?" Ari interrupted.

"Wasn't hard to figure out he was a dad at some point," said Tony, eyes darkening. "Bossman's real good with kids. And very pissed when they get hurt."

"You never investigated his past?"

"Asked around for the scuttlebutt when we first worked together. Gibbs likes his privacy. I knew he wouldn't want it brought up; so I didn't."

"Of course, you would see the grief of a bereaved parent; you do have experience of watching a man lose a child, after all."

Tony's expression didn't change. "Your people at Mossad?" He asked, matter of factly.

"Dear Ziva. She is so very good at putting together dossiers. I can sympathise with your tragic loss; my own little sister Tali was killed in a Hamas bombing when she was sixteen."

"One you helped plan?" Tony accused sharply.

"Anthony, Anthony; I am hurt that you think I could do such a thing. I could never cause harm to either of my sisters."

"Just other people's sisters?"

"There; you see? You are more intelligent than you claim. Tell me, why did Gibbs put your father in hospital shortly after your untimely demise?"

A flicker of surprise. "You'd have to ask him that."

"I would very much like to do so. Do you know why he paid for your funeral?"

Again, Tony couldn't conceal his astonishment. "Seriously? Well... I left all my money to charity; so I guess he was just making sure they got as much as possible."

"That is entirely believable; but it does not explain why a man like Gibbs would do something so sentimental as storing all of your belongings in his home."

Tony laughed. "Oh, c'mon; you seriously expect me to believe Bossman has ten boxes of DVDs in his basement with the boat?"

"Not just DVDs. Everything you owned; clothes, shoes, hair products; everything. In the guest room, I believe."

"Nah; not buying it. Gibbs would probably box it up; but he'd send it all to the VA or something."

"He went missing for two weeks shortly after your funeral. At first, we were concerned that he had worked out that it was... shall we say, premature."

"When you say missing..." said Tony carefully.

"Exactly that. No contact even with Dr Mallard or Miss Scutio for two full weeks. I'm sure she'd be delighted that you chose to use her name, by the way."

"Why d'you think I chose it? So, Gibbs went on vacation; so what?"

"Gibbs does not take holidays, Anthony. He hasn't taken a single day in more than five years. And yet he did, to grieve for you. Now that to me does not seem like the action of a man who does not care deeply for the decedent."

"Director probably made him take time off..."

"Only one week. The following two were of his own volition. But his current trip probably counts as work related."

"Current trip?"

"Oh; didn't I mention it? Gibbs is on his way out here. To find you. But don't worry; I shall be ready to be the most gracious of hosts on his arrival. Ari touched the 9mm at his hip as he spoke. Tony had no doubt of the kind of welcome his team would get.

"Now, tell me, Anthony..." Tony tensed.

"Would you like a drink of water before I go?"

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The CIA jet landed, finally, with distinct tension between the two agencies. They were all hit by a wall of hot, humid air as the doors opened and they stepped out into the brilliant sunlight. Abby raised her black lace parasol to protect her milky skin from the glare.

There was a car waiting on the tarmac; a young, well tanned woman in shades and a stylish yet cool beige outfit was leaning against it as she watched them deplane.

"Agent Gibbs; Officer David, Mossad," introduced Fisher. "Boyd, keep an eye on them; I'm flying on to Miami to coordinate the search for the bomb. And stay in touch."

Gibbs didn't spare him a glance as he vanished back into the plane. His eyes were fixed on the woman before him.

Casually, she raised her sunglasses to the top of her head to meet his eyes directly.

"Agent Gibbs. I am sorry for your loss."

"I haven't lost anything yet, David. Any updates?"

"I have been to the CIA's ops centre. There is a single body there, which I assume belongs to one of the terrorists; but no sign of any of the operatives. Why do you say that you have not lost Agent DiNozzo?"

"Never believe someone's dead until you've seen the body. And with DiNozzo, you need to look twice. Heard anything from Ari?"

"I have been calling; but his sat phone is turned off."

"Boyd!" Gibbs barked suddenly, causing her to jump. "There a secondary meeting place in case the first was compromised?"

"Uh, not that I know of, Agent Gibbs. The field team may have arranged one but they would not have communicated the location directly..." He turned away from her.

"David, we're going back to the base. And step on it."

"Why? We already know that there is nothing there..."

"No; we know you didn't find anything. Are you a trained crime scene analyst?"

"No, but..."

"We need evidence, David. And the only place we have to start is that base. Now let's move."

The seven of them were hardly buckled in when Ziva started the engine and left a perfect number 11 of burned rubber on the pavement.

McGee was crammed into the middle row of seats between Ducky and Abby.

"Oh God," he groaned. "I never knew it was actually possible for someone to drive worse than Gibbs..." His voice trailed off as he was flung violently across the car by a particularly sharp turn.

"You say something, McGee?" His boss asked, looking perfectly relaxed in the front.

"Uh, nothing important, Boss."

"Don't worry, Timmy," said Abby reassuringly. "It's just like riding a rollercoaster. Everyone loves rollercoasters."

"Not me. I kinda have a thing with heights." A sharp stamp on the brake threw him bodily forwards, his seatbelt the only thing keeping his head from contact with the windshield.

"And traffic accidents," he managed, when he could breathe again.

"Oh... well, at least you don't get carsick," she consoled. "Right?"

McGee gave her a look.

"Oh, my, Timothy," said Ducky, innocently. "You do look pale. Are you all right?"

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With a final squeal of tyres, Ziva pulled up in front of the dilapidated apartment block that was Sigma team's operational base.

"Ducky, Abbs, McGee, stay with the car," Gibbs barked. "And stay sharp; we don't know if our dead guy had any friends. Kate, David, Boyd, with me."

The four of them vanished into the building, hands on holsters. McGee looked after them like an abandoned puppy.

"Don't look so disappointed, Timothy," said Ducky consolingly. "In fact, I think you should be rather flattered."

"Why? Because I got left outside while Gibbs and Kate go into a dangerous situation with two complete strangers?"

"No; because Gibbs left you to protect us," said Abby seriously. "And if that doesn't say 'I trust you, McGee,' I don't know what does."

"Abigail is quite correct, Timothy. You are, after all, the only one with a firearm. Why, if Anthony could see you now, I'm sure he'd be very proud."

"No, he'd look all superior and call me Probie and make some crack about babysitting duty."

Ducky smiled fondly. "Yes, I suppose he would. You know, he reminds me greatly of..."

A pile of cardboard boxes in an alley behind them shifted suddenly. McGee spun, drawing his weapon on instinct.

A young, rough looking and clearly desperate young man emerged, hands up.

"Don't shoot!" He said. "I'm a friend of your brother's."

McGee kept his weapon raised. "I don't have a brother," he said, suspiciously.

"But you just said he calls you Probie; and you've got to be his sister Abby, with all the tattoos... I really am his friend; he calls me Fiver..."

"Fiver?" Said Abby, hope lighting her eyes.

"Who calls you that?" McGee demanded, still not sure he could trust this disreputable looking individual.

"Tony Scutio," said Fiver, eyes wide.

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Let me know what you thought.

The next chapter will be late, I expect; I have a busy week coming up, plus a Tony-heavy new episode in the form of Agent Afloat, so I'll probably have to write something on that before I go totally insane (assuming I haven't already).


	7. Interrogating Rabbits

Disclaimer: I don't own it

**AA/N: Sorry, guys! Messed up my final comment on this chapter and managed to get a line from my other story on the end. Now sorted out; sorry if it confused anyone. **

A/N: Once again, a million thanks to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter.

Sorry this one is so late; and a bit short, too. It just cliffed nicely here...

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Chapter 7: Interrogating Rabbits

Abby, Ducky and McGee escorted Fiver into the apartment to meet up with the others.

"Um, do we really have to go in there?" Asked Fiver nervously.

"Yes," replied McGee shortly.

"But there's a... body... on the floor... You people don't really want to see that, do you?"

"If we didn't, there wouldn't be much point in my being here, young man," said Ducky. "I'm a Medical Examiner."

The door in front of them was jerked open and Gibbs stood before them, analysing the small form of Fiver with a stare that felt like it was focussed on a point six inches inside Fiver's head.

The young CIA operative stared back, wide eyed, nose twitching furiously.

"All clear, McGee?" He asked.

"Didn't see anything, boss; except this guy. He had a gun."

Abby produced it from her coffin-shaped purse, already in a baggie to preserve the evidence.

"Finally; I actually got to collect my own evidence, Gibbs! Tony is going to be so proud when I tell him," she said excitedly.

The expressions on the faces of the rest told it all. Gibbs' face darkened, Fiver looked sorrowful and guilty, Ducky saddened, Ziva sceptical, Boyd surprised, and Kate sympathetic.

Gibbs took him from McGee and yanked him inside, shoving him roughly into a chair.

"This your geek, Boyd?"

"This is Sigma Five, intelligence officer, Agent Gibbs. He's the one who contacted us to tell us the mission had failed; and the one who sent you that email."

"That right, Fiver?" Asked Gibbs.

"Um, yes, um, sir, um, Tony asked me to, if anything went wrong... oh, god. How can you stand that smell?"

"Practice," said Gibbs curtly. "This your work?"

"Um... y...yes. He was coming at me, and I went for his gun, and I tried to get it like Tony showed me in training, and there was a struggle, and it went off. I swear, I didn't mean to do it; it just... it happened so fast..."

"And the vomit?" Asked Kate, wrinkling her nose.

"I... I've never killed anyone before. I was kind of in shock for a while."

"What went wrong with the operation?" Asked Ziva curtly.

"Um, I don't think I can tell you that..."

Gibbs got right up in Fiver's face. "Boyd?" He said softly.

"Special Agent Gibbs and his team are Sigma Four's former colleagues, David; and Mossad Officer Ziva David is working with us. They knows everything we do; you may speak freely."

"You're Gibbs? From the message? The one Tony told not to shoot me?"

"And you're DiNozzo's rabbit. Scutio is Abby's name, McGee is Acid Barrel Boy, Kate's the mangy Shitzu and Mrs M is Ducky's mother. Now, tell me; what happened?"

"I... I think it's my fault. I should have trusted Tony; he was so nice to me..."

"DiNozzo was _nice_ to you?" Said McGee incredulously. "Are you sure we're talking about the same guy? Obsessed with movies, bad jokes, chases women a lot?"

"Why wouldn't he be nice to me? He said I reminded him of his little brother, Probie."

"Aww, Timmy! That is sooo sweet!" Exclaimed Abby. "Didn't I always tell you Tony likes you?"

"Yes; but he always hazed me like..."

"Hey!" Gibbs barked. "We are not here to discuss DiNozzo's feelings! Let the man talk!"

"I... was curious about Tony. I figured out he was a cop, but he was such a good actor..."

"Tony always was at his best undercover. What'd you do?"

"I... I..."

"He googled him," interrupted Ziva. "Some of our operatives were keeping watch for internet searches for Special Agent DiNozzo's details. We were able to block anything related to NCIS; but I still warned him about it. The searches stopped shortly afterwards."

"Tony called me. He said he'd been told by a hot chick in a small bikini... um, that's his words, not mine, by the way, ma'am..."

Ziva looked insulted. "Ma'am?"

"Uh, sorry... um, anyway, uh, she told him that someone was looking him up, and he'd figured out it was me. He was mad; I promised him I'd stop and I did. But if you could spot the searches, so could someone else... I think it tipped them off that Tony wasn't who he said he was."

"No," said Gibbs grimly. "They already knew."

"Ari knew," corrected Ziva sharply. "There is no proof that it was he who betrayed us."

"And no proof that he didn't," snapped Gibbs.

"You mean... it might not have been my fault?"

"Most likely," said Gibbs, just as Ziva contradicted him.

"Unlikely." They exchanged a long look.

"Have you been in contact with any of the others?" Asked Boyd.

"Are they OK?" Asked Fiver, lighting up with hope.

"We don't know. We haven't heard from any of them. Did you arrange a secondary meeting point?"

"Um, yes; near the marina."

"You can take us there to check it out," Gibbs stated. "Where did you lose DiNozzo?"

"Out at sea. I can give you the coordinates."

"Any idea where the drop off point was?"

"Somewhere in the Everglades; Tony couldn't get anything more specific. Do you... D'you think he's OK, Agent Gibbs?"

"He'd better be; or I'll kick his ass," Gibbs grunted. "Ok; Kate, McGee, Ducky, Abbs; process this place. Boyd, arrange to get the body flown out to Miami so Ducky can do the autopsy; Abby, you're going with him when you've collected all the evidence you can. Rest of you with me; we're going to check out this secondary base."

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Gibbs, Ziva and Fiver slid out of the car on the dockside, just outside an abandoned boat repair shop. The area was eerily still; the only sounds were the water lapping against the jetty and faint music carried on the breeze from a distant beach bar.

"Are you sure that this is the place?" Ziva asked suspiciously. "This site is ideal for..."

"Ambush," Gibbs finished. "Two good snipers could hold off an army here."

"That was kind of the point, Agent Gibbs. Three is a trained sniper; he was the only one who could beat Four on the range."

"Guess losing all those hats taught him something," said Gibbs, half to himself, as he drew his weapon. "Fiver, stay here; Officer David, with me."

"But I can help..." Fiver protested. Gibbs turned back to him.

"You're not armed; what help d'you think you could be?"

"Well, no; but I can still help. If there are any of our people in there, they'll recognise me; and maybe they won't fire like they would on strangers."

"There is only one problem with that," said Ziva. "How do we know we can trust you? It could be that you were the traitor all along."

"Agent Gibbs..." Fiver appealed to the older man.

"She has a point. You haven't given me a good reason to trust you."

Fiver opened his mouth; and Tony's password came rushing back to him.

"Gitmo naked Sig iguana chair," he said very fast. He watched Gibbs' stony features shift, every muscle tensed.

Like the break of dawn over the most formidable mountains you can imagine, a fond, genuine smile crossed Gibbs' face. He nodded.

"Fair enough," he said. "C'mon; make yourself useful."

Stepping alone into the dim, echoing space, Fiver felt a lot less confident. He could barely see in the shadows; although he was well aware that he himself was outlined by the sunlight streaming through the door behind him.

"Um, hello?" He called nervously, throat suddenly very dry.

"Is anyone here? It's me, Five..."

A sudden sound caused him to jump; he relaxed a little as he spotted a rat running across the floor to vanish behind a coil of rope.

"Gross," he muttered.

"You can say that again, Five," replied a hoarse voice from behind a stack of rotting timber.

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Yay! Cliffy goodness. Hope you liked it...


	8. The Survivor

Disclaimer: I don't own it

A/N: Not as many of you reviewed the last chapter as usual; which means I appreciate the eleven people who did even more. You know who you are.

You know, I really didn't expect so many of you to jump straight to Tony when you heard the voice. Sorry to say, we're not quite to that point in the story yet; but I do have most of the next chapter already written, so if I get lots of feedback on this one, I might be posting it quite soon...

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Chapter 8: The Survivor

"_You can say that again, Five," replied a hoarse voice from behind a stack of rotting timber. _

David's heart stalled in his chest; and then his pulse doubled until the blood pounded in his ears.

"Who's there?" He asked, weakly.

"It's me; Two. Man, am I glad to see you; I thought I was the only one left."

"Me too," said Five with feeling. "Um, can you come out? There's a relief team with me, sent by the Agency..."

"You sure that's who they are?"

"Agent Boyd is with them; and they all know Four. They're OK, honest. Apart from being a little scary."

"You find me scary, Officer David?" Asked Gibbs, as the pair approached, guns pointed in the direction of the voice.

"I would say more... intimidating, Agent Gibbs. But my grasp of English is imperfect."

"Hey, it's all right," said Fiver, hastily. "This is Sigma Two; he's one of our guys. We're all on the same side here."

"Won't know that until he steps out and we can see that he's alone," said Gibbs.

"It's all right, Fiver. I'm coming out," called Two. "Not like I'll last much longer here anyway."

The trio watched as the bulky form of Sigma Two crawled painstakingly out from behind the timber, clutching his upper arm with one hand.

Gibbs appraised him coldly. Black, muscular and heavily bloodstained, but also clearly calm and in control of himself. Plus apparently unarmed.

"Two, are you hurt?" Asked Fiver in concern.

"Now why would you think that?" Asked Two with a woozy smile; and then promptly passed out.

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"Ducky! Need some help out here!" Gibbs called out, as Fiver helped him drag the still unconscious and very heavy form of Two into the apartment.

The ME rose from where he was kneeling beside the body, considering where best to put his patient.

"Bring him into the bedroom, Jethro; I can work on him there without contaminating the crime scene too much. Is he friend or foe?"

"Sigma Two," said Boyd, shocked. "What happened to him?"

"Don't know. Found him at the rendezvous and then he passed out. McGee, give Fiver a hand." Gibbs passed his burden to the younger agent, who sagged visibly.

"Got anything?" He demanded.

"Well, there's the dead body," said Abby. "And a pool of puke."

"Anything we didn't have before I left, Abbs?"

"Oh. Not much. I collected trace off John Doe's hands, shoes and clothes but I can't identify it until I get my hands on some better equipment; all I could bring with me was a microscope and a basic lab kit. So, I can tell you what Fiver had for dinner, but not much else. I've also taken a ten card and DNA; I'll run them through the databases when we get to Miami."

"Kate?"

"I searched the apartment, Gibbs; nothing much except the usual disgusting bachelor living habits and a bunch of high end surveillance equipment. McGee's been like a kid in a candy store. And I recovered the bullet that killed our terrorist from the ceiling. It's pretty mangled; hit the only steel bar in the place."

"Least it didn't go right through; we'd never have found it. Boyd; you able to get the body moved?"

"Agent Fisher managed to pull some strings. There's a C-130 touching down at the nearest airport in two hours."

"That the best you could do?"

"Do you have any idea how much red tape there is involved in moving an unidentified murder victim out of a foreign country, Agent Gibbs? You're lucky it wasn't two weeks."

"McGee!"

The young agent stuck his head around the bedroom door. "Yes, Boss?"

"What have you got?"

"Uh, not a lot that's useful, yet. All of the data is heavily protected; I really need David to put in the passwords..."

"Then get with him and find something. Ducky!"

"These walls are not so thick that you need to shout when I'm fifteen feet away, Jethro," the older man called back irritably, sounding only slightly muffled. "I can hear every word."

"How's the patient?"

"Gunshot wound to the upper arm; would have been a through and through, if it hadn't hit the bone. He's going to need far more sophisticated medical treatment than I can give him; he's lost a lot of blood and there are already signs of infection, not to mention surgery to remove the bullet..."

"He can fly to Miami with you and the body; but I need to talk to him first. There anything you can do to wake him up?"

"That would be highly inadvisable, Jethro..."

"This guy could be the only lead we have on Tony, Duck," Gibbs reminded him simply.

"Ah... perhaps a few millilitres of adrenaline, then. But let me get him cleaned up first; it'll hurt like the blazes when he comes round."

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Gibbs, Fiver, and Boyd were all crammed into the small room with Ducky and his patient; Ziva hovered in the doorway, with the rest listening avidly through the wall.

"All right, Gibbs; this should be enough to wake our friend here for a few minutes," said Ducky, injecting a small amount of fluid into Two's saline IV. "Do try not to make him too stressed; cardiac arrest is not unlikely in his condition." Gibbs could only agree; Two looked awful, sweat stood on his brow and he shifted restlessly in his sleep.

"Do my best, Duck."

"Do we even know his name?" Asked Ducky.

"Bonner Lane Ingrum," said Boyd, nervously. "Known among his SEAL team as 'Bling'."

"Bling?" Kate whispered incredulously, leaning against the wall outside. "Who does he think he is, B.A Baraccas?"

"If Tony were here, you'd never have said that," commented McGee.

"Would you want to spend the next thirty minutes listening to him telling us all about his favourite episode of the A-Team, McGee?"

"Shh! I'm listening," said Abby, her ear pressed firmly against the drywall.

"He's a Naval man?" Ducky exclaimed. "Good grief; it is a small world."

"No; Navy just trains the best," said Gibbs.

"G...Got to be a Marine," Ingrum managed, opening his eyes and squinting in Gibbs' direction.

"Haircut gives it away every time," the former Gunny remarked, as Ducky helped his patient take a few sips of water.

"That... and the total lack of modesty."

Gibbs grinned and produced his badge. "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. What happened to the rest of your team, Ingrum?"

"NCIS? Thought the CIA... were running this show."

"We are," said Boyd. "But Agent Gibbs has some... unique expertise we need. You can speak freely."

"It was all going as planned," he said with difficulty. "Four was out at sea with Fuentes getting the bomb; we got our phone call to intercept them from Five, had the GPS locator working fine, and then as we were starting the boat, we were ambushed."

"How many?" Asked Gibbs.

"Not sure. At least three, no more than eight. They came out of nowhere, all spraying automatic fire. One of the bastards got me in the arm; knocked me clean off the boat and I lost my gun in the water. So, I swam under the jetty and hid; there was nothing else I could do. I stayed there until they were gone and then patched myself up enough so I wouldn't bleed to death. Barely made it to the secondary base, let alone all the way across town to warn you, Five."

"And... the others?" Asked Fiver hesitantly.

"One was killed instantly. I think Three managed to put up a fight; but it didn't last long. The SOB in charge of the terrorists... at least, he did most of the talking... had him dragged ashore. I heard what they said. Three told him to go to hell; and I could _hear_ that asshole smiling. He said "oh, I will," and then just... shot him. He was so cold; I swear, I'll never forget that voice."

"Did you get a good look at him?" Asked Ziva, anxiously.

"I didn't even get a bad one. Happened too fast."

"They say anything else?"

"Not in English. I heard three bodies being dumped into the water, so I guess Three got one of them; and then they took our boat and went after Four. I think one guy stayed behind, though; heard footsteps and a car."

"Explains how they managed to find the yacht and get you out of the way," said Gibbs. "This leader; he have an accent?"

"Yeah; but it didn't sound Middle Eastern. British, maybe?"

The silver haired Agent turned to lock eyes with Ziva's shocked ones and raised his voice a little.

"Abby, do we have a sample of Ari's voice on tape?"

"Gibbs! No one uses tape any more. And no, we don't."

"Then we need to get one. Ziva, you have Ari's encrypted cell number?"

"Yes; but as I told you, it is switched off..."

"Then I'll just have to leave him a message to call me back."

"What makes you think he will?"

"Ari has one of my people, Officer David. He'll want to gloat."

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I am deeply indebted to Shywriter (particularly the excellent 'Still Waters' and for the uninitiated, her wonderful crossover 'Concurrent Jurisdiction' which got me into NCIS in the first place) and James Cameron's Dark Angel for everything written about Two in this chapter. (And you all thought the crossover character I mentioned in LII:TLB was Deck!)

Remember; more reviews mean faster updates...


	9. The Smallest Sinister Proximal Phalanx

Disclaimer: I don't own it

A/N: Needless to say, you guys rock! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed.

I should probably warn you; there is mention of torture in this chapter. Nothing too graphic for my rating, I hope. Oh, and one post watershed word.

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Chapter 9: The Smallest Sinister Proximal Phalanx

Ari leaned on the crate which housed the bomb, running an almost loving hand over it. He had, after all, gone to a lot of trouble to acquire his very own WMD. He took a moment to check his voicemail on his encrypted satellite phone. Two messages, both from Ziva.

"Message one..."

"_It's me. The situation is deteriorating. Call me when you receive this. Please." _

Dear Ziva; so naive, he thought idly, as he deleted it. So desperate not to lose anyone else. What a shock for her, when she learns what our father has made me.

"Message two..."

"_You have something that belongs to me, Ari. And I want it back." _

Ziva let Gibbs call me. She must be getting suspicious; perhaps her naivety is fading at last. Well, it would only be good manners to call back...

He made his way to the storeroom where his prisoner sat; hot, thirsty and uncomfortable, but defiant nonetheless.

"Come for another of your little chats, Ari? He asked hoarsely.

"I would like that very much, Anthony; but I'm afraid I must return a phone call first. You may listen; but not contribute just yet."

"I've never been great at keeping my mouth shut."

"Then I'm afraid I'll be forced to use this." He took a bandage from the first aid kit and forced into Tony's mouth, gagging him effectively.

"Listening is an important skill, Anthony; I hope this lesson teaches you how important." Ari smiled when he heard the familiar gruff voice on the other end of the line.

"Gibbs."

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"Are you sure this is going to work, McGee?" Asked Gibbs, tetchily. Abby, Ducky and Ingrum were already on their way to the airport, escorted by Boyd. Only the people he needed were present; Kate to profile, McGee and Fiver to work the computer stuff and Ziva to listen and know what she had been defending for so long.

"Um, yes, I think so, Boss," the MIT grad replied nervously.

"You think?"

"Well, it depends how long you can keep Ari on the phone and how many satellites recieve the signal. We've linked Ziva's phone up to MTAC and they're going to use the position of the satellites and the strength and precise timing of signal each one receives to try to create a search radius. The longer the call, the smaller the area will get."

"It's sorta like that case where we used the sound of the gunshot to triangulate where that sniper was firing from," Kate informed him. "You remember, the one who was taking out Marine recruiters? And the two of us had to wear dress blue charlies, but you made Tony pretend to be a construction worker and he complained about looking like one of the Village People?"

"So long as it works. What's the best radius you can give me, McGee?"

"Well, if we were working directly from MTAC and had a dedicated NSA satellite, we could get a fix to within a city block," the young agent told him, before Fiver continued.

"But since we're out here and just piggybacking on the signal..." David hesitated. "Maybe thirty square miles, if we're lucky?" McGee tag teamed him again.

"It'll be more difficult if we find Ari's in a city, but using ambient sounds to narrow the possibilities, we might be able to figure out where they are."

"I thought the purpose of this exercise was to obtain a voice sample for identification," said Ziva. "That is, if we even get a response. If Ari's cover has been compromised the phone has most likely been destroyed."

"And if it hasn't, we'll have a lead on finding the nuke, the traitor and Tony," Gibbs reminded her. "Why are you so afraid of it being Ari?"

"I am not afraid. Merely concerned, about the outcome of my assignment. Why are you so convinced that it is?"

"Because, Officer David, he got Tony tangled up in this just to involve me. He made sure I'd think DiNozzo was dead and I'm pretty sure he knew the CIA would bring me in once he stole the nuke. The bastard's playing with me."

"What possible reason could he have for that?"

"Ari loves to take risks," said Kate, in profiler mode. "He knows how good Gibbs is at what he does and he wants to feel the thrill of being chased by someone he knows can catch him."

"With all due respect to your profiler training, Special Agent Todd," Ziva informed her, her tone leaving no doubt of how much respect she had for profiles, "I have known Ari much longer than you have. I do not believe he would betray Mossad or Israel."

Just then, the phone rang in front of her.

"Or maybe, you just don't want to believe," said Gibbs softly, picking it up to answer.

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"Gibbs."

"Special Agent Gibbs; I cannot tell you what a pleasure it was to hear from you."

"Yeah? You have a deathwish, Ari?" Gibbs asked, meeting Ziva's eyes as he said the name. They widened in shock; pain and grief and betrayal flashed through them before she turned away, unwilling to expose her emotions to him.

Ari merely chuckled. "Jethro, Jethro; there is no need for such melodrama; as I have been telling Anthony here since we first met. I see now where he gets it from..."

Gibbs closed his eyes briefly. Tony was still alive; and Ari had him.

"I wanna talk to him."

"But of course you do, Gibbs. Although I cannot say that I understand your affection. Tell me, what is Anthony to you? A colleague? A friend? Perhaps a younger brother? Or even... a son?"

"He's my _**agent**_, you son of a bitch!"

"But would you give your life for him, Jethro? Would you give another's life, all to keep your Tony safe?"

"Yours? In a heartbeat."

"Anthony has been assuring me of that at regular intervals. His faith in you is rather touching; he fully expects you to have to avenge his death, just as you did for K..." Gibbs cut across him.

"Don't you _dare_ say that name to me, you murdering piece of shit!"

"Still a raw nerve, after all of this time, Agent Gibbs? Perhaps that is why you feel such a compulsion to protect Anthony here."

Gibbs clenched his jaw, trying to regain control over his emotions. "The CIA can't shield you from me this time, Ari," he ground out. "No one can."

"With the exception of Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. I am willing to turn him over to you, unharmed, if you are prepared to let myself and my men go."

"And the bomb?"

"I'm afraid I will still be needing it."

Gibbs closed his eyes, knowing what his reply had to be and what it could cost him.

"You know I can't agree to that."

"But perhaps Anthony knows some vital detail that could help you to stop me, Gibbs. Perhaps you needn't sacrifice him in order to protect others."

"I know you better than that, Ari. If DiNozzo knew anything, you'd never let him live."

"I never said I would kill him, Gibbs. Oh, no; I plan to keep Anthony here alive for as long as possible. Regrettably, it will not be in a great deal of comfort. Have you ever heard of the writings of Shien Yu? He believed that you could live in a man's house for forty years and never truly meet him until you began to inflict pain upon him."

"Lay one finger on DiNozzo, and I will..."

"You will what? I have already been assured that I am a dead man. What could possibly be worse than death?"

"Me!"

"I'm afraid I don't believe you, Jethro. But I am feeling generous; I will allow the two of you to speak one last time."

Ari reached out and tugged the gag from Tony's mouth, and then put the phone on speaker.

"Gibbs for you, Anthony..."

"DiNozzo?"

Tony felt blades of pain slice into his heart at the sound of the voice he'd missed for so long. But he said nothing.

"Tony? You there?"

The younger agent bit down on his tongue to stop himself from replying. If he talked to Gibbs, his boss would know he was OK and stop at nothing to rescue him; to the exclusion of all else, including his own life, and those of their team mates. He'd already left his goodbyes in Gibbs' letter; there was nothing more to be said.

"Damn it, DiNozzo, answer me!" The command was sharp; but to one who knew him, Gibbs' distress was clear.

"Oh, dear," said Ari, sounding disappointed. "I do apologise, Gibbs; Anthony here is being rather rude. But I am sure I can persuade him to cooperate..."

Gibbs realised immediately what he was about to do. "No! ARI!"

Too late. The terrorist grasped Tony's left hand, and with a single violent motion, broke his pinkie finger.

The unmistakably gristly sound of snapping bone echoed down the phone to Gibbs.

A wave of nauseating pain radiated from the digit up the arm and straight into Tony's skull. He clenched his jaw, tasting thick, coppery blood in his mouth as he bit the inside of his cheek; but the only sound he made was a sharply indrawn breath.

"What did you do to him, you bastard?!" Gibbs yelled, incandescent with rage.

"Relax, Jethro; it was merely the smallest sinister proximal phalanx. Extremely painful, but not serious. And yet Anthony here managed not to make a sound. Fascinating."

When he next spoke, Gibbs' voice was low, even and positively dripping with menace.

"When I get my hands on you, Ari, I'm going to break every bone in your body for that," he promised.

"Oh, I believe you; but you have not yet spoken with Anthony. Still, there are nine left..."

"You get the hell away from him!"

"But it is so rare to find a man with such self control. You, perhaps I might expect it of; but not Anthony..."

"Tony! You listen to me. We're coming for you; and you know I mean everything I say."

Tony knew; he remembered the last time Gibbs had said those words to him; while he passed out before waking up in a sewer with one corpse and one near corpse. And he remembered what Gibbs had said to him afterwards.

"_As far as I'm concerned, Tony, you're irreplaceable." _

"I, too, am a man of my word, Jethro," Ari continued. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm afraid you've compelled me to continue to experiment with Anthony's pain threshold. Give my regards to Caitlyn and Doctor Mallard."

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Hope you liked it, everyone.

Kudos to anyone who picked up the little nod to Firefly in this chapter.


	10. Chopping and Changing

A/N: Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry! I've had a crazy couple of weeks (Hallowe'en, Breast Cancer fundraiser at work, Grampa's 89th birthday, AND Bonfire Night) and my muse has just abandoned me and all I've been able to write is this crappy chapter. It's too choppy, it doesn't flow properly, and I'm really not in the least happy with it. The only reason I'm posting it is partly to apologise to all the people who are waiting for an update and partly so I can move on to the great big finale I've got planned. It'll be good, I promise; just bear with me for a bit.

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Chapter 10: Chopping and Changing

Fiver's nose was twitching non-stop, and he knew it. He hadn't been lying to Two earlier; these people frightened him. Their casual acceptance of the dead body in the middle of the room, the nonchalant way they carried their weapons and talked about terrorists and nuclear weapons so professionally... And that was just Kate and McGee. Gibbs was a whole new definition of the word. He'd never been so grateful to Tony than when he told Gibbs his password. It was the first genuine smile he'd seen from the older man; it made him look human, for once.

Watching the expressions cross Gibbs' face as the phone conversation with their terrorist progressed was certainly an education in Gibbs-ese. Fiver had gathered that there was a history between this Ari and the older man; exactly what it was, he hadn't quite worked up the courage to ask yet. From the side of the conversation he could hear, he'd gathered that Ari had Tony and was threatening his life unless Gibbs agreed to his demands. The sheer rage that crossed Gibbs' face as he yelled down the phone was simply terrifying; but there was fear there, too.

If Fiver had any doubt that the steely silver haired NCIS agent cared about his friend, it vaporised there and then. Gibbs would do anything he could to make sure Tony came home safe.

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It took every ounce of Gibbs' self control not to throw the phone to the ground and smash it to pieces when Ari hung up.

"Gibbs?" Kate ventured, tentatively. "What happened? Did he hurt Tony?"

Gibbs threw her a single glance, his eyes cutting through her like a laser, so strong was the helpless rage they projected.

"McGee!" He barked, turning deliberately away to avoid her question. "Did you get a fix?"

"Uh, working on it, Boss," the young agent replied, fingers typing rapidly as the computer calculated Ari's position. It beeped. "Ok; we have a search area of forty six square miles."

"Where?" Gibbs leaned over his shoulder as McGee pulled up a map.

"Southern Florida, Boss. It's mostly swamp and brush; not much there. If we assume they're in some kind of structure, there's not that many options."

"You know what I think about assumptions, McGee. Send the recording to Abby; she can play the start to Ingrum and see if he thinks it's the same voice. Don't let her listen to the rest. Ziva; with me."

Kate, McGee and Fiver watched the pair leave the apartment, Ziva visibly shaken by the revelation of Ari's betrayal.

"McGee, can you play back the whole of that conversation?" Asked Kate.

"I could; but I don't think Gibbs would like it."

"Didn't you see his face? Ari's hurting Tony, Tim, I know he is."

"I'd... rather not have to listen to that, Kate. Anyway, I need to get that sample sent to Abby and we don't know how long they'll be."

"What was the name Agent Gibbs was yelling about?" Asked Fiver cautiously, trying to distract her. He really didn't want to have to listen to the torture of a friend either.

"Don't know," said McGee. "Gerald, maybe?"

"I don't think so," said Kate thoughtfully. "Oh; Gerald was Ducky's assistant, David. Ari shot him the first time we met him, about eighteen months ago; he hasn't worked since."

"And he kidnapped you and Ducky. And shot Gibbs in the shoulder. And then he kidnapped you again, remember?"

"I'm not likely to forget being abducted by a group of terrorists, McGee. The point is, Gibbs has a major grudge against Ari; and Ari's exploiting it, by using Tony as a hostage."

"So, Agent Gibbs and Tony are close?"

The two agents exchanged glances; a wealth of shared memories passing between them. The head smacks, the half smiles, the way each could almost read the other's mind at times... Gibbs' utter devastation at Tony's 'death'...

"Yes," said Kate, at last. "They were pretty close."

"The two of you must be close to Tony as well, then..."

"Us?" McGee exclaimed incredulously. "Are you kidding? Do you know how many irritating nicknames he's called me over the years? Probie, McGeek, McGoogle; you name it. In fact, I don't think he's called me Tim once. He's always putting me down, giving me the worst jobs to do, playing tricks to get me in trouble with Gibbs... Believe me, most of the time I'd happily shoot the man."

Kate joined in the abuse. "Then there's the constant sexist comments, raunchy jokes, trying to sleep with every attractive woman he meets, listening in on my phone calls, going through my purse... He's the ultimate overgrown frat boy." She sighed. "And then he does something either very brave or very charming. It's infuriating."

"He told Gibbs off once over his Ari obsession."

"And he sent me flowers when I told him he was going too far when he annoyed me."

"And he lets you elbow him in the ribs all the time."

"Um, who exactly is this Ari person? I mean, everyone keeps talking about him, but..." The two NCIS agents exchanged a long glance.

"Ari Haswari is a Mossad Officer, deep undercover in Hamas," said Kate, eventually.

"But if he's Mossad... Doesn't that mean he's on our side?"

"Gibbs thinks he's lying about being a double agent," explained McGee. "And what Gibbs thinks is usually right."

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The silver haired NCIS Agent and the beautiful young Mossad Officer made an incongrous picture as he led her outside the building to the very alley where McGee had found Fiver.

"You've been lying to me, Officer David," he stated threateningly.

"No... I thought... I truly believed... How could he do this? I do not understand..." Ziva babbled, unable to focus on anything beyond her brother's betrayal.

"I know you believed in Ari; that's not why I'm pissed. Your agency researched me."

"It is standard procedure; as his control officer, I prepared dossiers on NCIS personnel he was likely to interact with..."

"You know about my first wife; and my daughter."

"Yes. I am sorry."

"Ari knew her name, Ziva. You told him about my family and now he's using that knowledge against me."

"How?"

"He took DiNozzo!"

"But surely, Agent Todd or Miss Scutio..."

"He tried taking Kate. Twice. He wanted to see how far I'd go for Tony. Do you know what a proximal phalanx is, Officer David?"

"Yes; one of the bones of the fingers. This one." She pointed to her own hand. "Why..." Realisation dawned on her face.

"Haswari just broke one of DiNozzo's because he wouldn't talk to me. He said that unless I turned him loose with the nuke he was going to torture my agent to death."

"And you were forced to refuse. He... is trying to torment you, Gibbs." She said, with difficulty.

"And thanks to you, it's working. He knows what Tony is to me. I know there are things you haven't told us; so please, Ziva."

The young woman met Gibbs' eyes, that she had seen so often icy with rage over the past few hours; cold and hard or burning with intensity. And then she remembered what she had seen when Fiver told them his password; warmth, affection... joy. She thought of the charming, cheerful man she had met so briefly, so desperate to see his friends again. And she remembered what was left after some of the torture sessions she had witnessed or participated in; strong men reduced to screams and whimpers, incapable of even the simplest tasks.

"Help me save my son," said Gibbs simply, the utter desperation of a parent in danger of losing a child all too plain to read in the crystal blue orbs.

The moment was interrupted by the ringing of Gibbs' phone.

"Yeah, Gibbs," he barked gruffly into it.

"Boss, we've got something," said McGee.

"Be right there." Gibbs hung up. "You coming, Ziva?"

A tear escaped the young woman's eye; she swiped hurriedly at it as she replied.

"Yes. I am."

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"Really, Anthony," Ari drawled, turning off his phone and pocketing it. "I had expected rather better manners from you, considering your education."

"Sorry to disappoint," Tony replied, voice tight with pain.

"I do not think your silence will have done much good. In fact, Gibbs sounded rather more determined to find you after you had refused to speak to him."

"Not much of a surprise, after what you told him. Ever heard of the Geneva convention?"

"I am afraid Hamas does not subscribe to it. But do not concern yourself, my friend; I was merely attempting to make Gibbs... desperate."

"If you think he'd let you take the bomb in exchange for me, under any circumstances, you don't know him at all."

"Oh, I am well aware of that. But I am also aware that Gibbs will suffer more imagining everything I could do to you while knowing that he has the power to stop it."

"Why do you hate him so much? What did he ever do to you that you didn't bring on yourself?"

"Hate? I do not hate Gibbs. He merely reminds me of the one thing I loathe with all my power."

"Your father?"

"Very good, Anthony. It shows him that his war is no more than a game to me; and you, my friend, are nothing more than a pawn I shall use to distract and eventually destroy Gibbs." Ari's deft doctor's fingers closed over Tony's left wrist. The former NCIS agent tensed instantly, clenching his jaw.

"Does your finger pain you much, Anthony?"

"You should know, Doc," Tony ground out. "You broke it."

"Hmm, true," said Ari, leaning close to inspect the sickening angle of the digit. "And now, I am afraid the bones must be set to heal properly. Do feel free to scream."

Ari grasped Tony's broken finger and pulled.

White hot agony enveloped Tony like molten lava, carrying him gratefully over into the warm darkness of unconsciousness.

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"What've you got, McGee?" Gibbs demanded, striding back into the appartment, Ziva trailing behind.

"Um, maps, boss. See, here we have the exact course of Fuentes' yacht and the intercepting boat." He pulled up a nautical map, one bright yellow line and one red one marking the paths, which vanished abruptly just as they converged.

"Can you pull back; see a wider view?"

"Sure." McGee typed rapidly for a moment. "There."

"Range of the yacht?"

"Assuming it was fully fueled and taking into account the tides and sea conditions, about another hundred miles from that point, maximum," Fiver reeled off.

"But that's not why I called you, Boss," said McGee.

"Then why didja, McGee?"

"The tracking devices on the yacht? They've started transmitting again. I can tell you exactly where it is to within forty feet," he said smugly.

Gibbs just stared at him. "And, McGee?"

"Oh... uh, right here, boss." He typed another string of commands into the computer and pulled up a set of coordinates. "It's approximately three miles from the coast, in an area of swamp with very little in the way of human activity. In fact, it's infested with alligators."

"Not bad, McGee," said Gibbs, pulling out his cell. "Duck? When's your flight leaving?"

"Well, tell Boyd to delay it. We've got a lead and we're coming with you..."

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Please be gentle with me; I know it sucked.


	11. Trust

A/N: Many, many thanks for your kind reviews for last week's crappy chapter. I'm a lot happier with this one. And it's even a bit longer than usual! How about that?

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Chapter 11: Trust

Ducky approached the tiny galley on the plane, where Gibbs was fully occupied glaring at the hot water heater. This flight was being fuelled by instant coffee; which was only another worrying sign of his friend's emotional state. Usually, Gibbs wouldn't touch the stuff with a ten foot pole. Apparently, his need for caffeine had overcome his standards.

"You know the old saying, Jethro," the elderly ME remarked. "A watched pot never boils. And glowering at it like that certainly isn't going to help."

"Not seeing the pot, Duck," Gibbs replied tightly.

"What did Ari say, to make you so angry? Did he hurt Anthony?"

"Broke his finger because he wouldn't talk to me. Unless I set Ari loose with the bomb, he's going to torture him. Probably at it right now."

Ducky caught his breath. "Oh, Jethro... The bastard knows that nothing he could inflict could be worse than forcing you to allow harm to come to someone you care for."

"I should be able to protect him." Gibbs spoke quietly; but his old friend could pick out the anguish in his voice. "Tony trusts me to keep him safe."

"He doesn't expect the impossible; and he would never forgive you if you agreed."

"I know that, Duck; just makes me more pissed."

"Our Anthony is strong, Jethro." Ducky tried hard to be reassuring. "There is steel in him that rarely sees the light of day."

"Oh, yeah; I know." For the first time, Gibbs turned to meet his friend's eyes. "Only the problem with steel? It tends to snap," he said bleakly.

The silent communication of their eyes expressed what neither were prepared to put into words; their fear that even if Tony survived physically, he might never be the man they remembered again.

Gibbs broke the link first as he heard the click of the water heater. Swiftly and efficiently, he made two cups of the hated instant coffee, one stronger than the other, and moved down to Kate's seat. The senior agent handed his subordinate the weaker brew. Ducky had to strain to hear his words over the engine noise.

"Take this to Ziva. I want to know what she's hiding."

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Tony came round gradually, aware of the infuriating sound long before he identified it. The repetitive plink, plink, plink seemed to echo round the inside of his skull, until his head pounded in the same rhythm.

It's a tap, dripping, he finally managed to think, childishly proud of his deduction. The surge of confidence encouraged him to try to lift his head. Big mistake.

Pain screamed through his whole body as the world spun dizzyingly around him. Bright lights flashed behind Tony's closed eyes and he retched dryly, nausea nearly overpowering and only making the pain worse.

On the brink of blacking out again, Tony rode through the waves, hanging grimly onto consciousness with a determination that rarely showed but somehow defined him. Tony DiNozzo never gave up; and he wasn't going to start now.

Finally, with the taste of acid in the back of his throat and bongos playing in his head, Tony scraped himself together enough to think.

He ached all over. His left hand seemed to be bandaged; Ari must have splinted his broken finger after he passed out. Tony was really quite glad that the hand was immobilised; he didn't relish a replay of the terrible sensation of broken bones scraping together he'd felt earlier. It wasn't the first bone he'd broken by a long shot; but Tony felt awful.

He hadn't dared accept the drink Ari had offered him earlier, fearing it would be drugged; it was the kind of thing Ari would do. His tongue felt twice its usual size, swollen and parched inside his dry mouth. The dizziness, nausea and headache were all bad signs; he'd almost stopped sweating, despite the swelteringly close conditions in his prison. The dehydration was probably the main source of his headache too; and he felt as weak as a kitten.

Now'd be a real good time for you to come to the rescue, Boss, Tony thought muzzily, remembering the tone of Gibbs' voice on the phone. But Ari was smart. He knew how to avoid detection. Gibbs wouldn't know where to even start looking; and there was no one left from Sigma team to help him.

Fiver... A pang of grief lanced through Tony. He'd really liked that kid; David had been the only friend he'd had through this whole nightmare. And Ari had killed him because it was convenient to do so. Him, and their three teammates. Ok, so Tony had never really connected with them as he had with Five, but they were still the good guys. They all had lives, friends, family. Probably more than Tony himself.

And then, of course, there was his mission. The bomb... was it even still here? Had Ari moved it while he was out cold, to split Gibbs' target? Tony wasn't an expert in bomb disposal, but he'd had enough training to know he could attempt to defuse the nuke; whether he'd get it right... well, if he didn't, he'd never know it.

Not that it was likely he'd get a chance. Tony doubted he could stand, even if he managed to free himself from his restraints. He needed water, food, a very long hot shower, a couple days in a five star hotel suite with a decent cable package (or even better, Gibbs' house, where there would be the smell of sawdust and the reassuring sound of sanding rising from the basement). Although he hated to admit it, a trip to the ER would probably be a good idea too.

Mostly, though, he needed not to be alone. Tony hated to be alone; to have nothing to distract him from his thoughts and memories. Few of them were good; he needed to talk, to joke and laugh and feel that satisfaction that only came when he made someone else smile. Movies and case files came a close second; Tony could lose himself in someone else's problems and not have to think about his own.

Idly, he wondered if this was Ari's idea of a torture session. Severely dehydrated, in constant pain, left alone to torment himself with survivor's guilt while he had to listen to the distant sound of a tap dripping precious water away down the drain.

Against his will, Tony's mind conjured an image of the tap; the cool fluid flowing from it. He imagined the feel of it in his mouth as it washed away the taste of bile, caressing his dry tongue, soothing his sore throat, crisp, cold and refreshing...

The door creaked open, allowing in a single precious breath of cool air. Tony remained absolutely still, knowing how much it would hurt if he so much as opened his eyes.

"I know you are awake, Anthony," Ari drawled. "You must be very thirsty by now, yes? I have some water here for you."

Tony's parched mouth made only an odd croaking sound when he tried to speak. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"I was hoping for a dry martini," he managed hoarsely. "Shaken, not stirred."

Ari smiled. "Alcohol will only dehydrate you further, as I am sure you know. How is your finger feeling?" Cool fingers trailed gently over the overheated skin of Tony's wrist as he replied.

"Just peachy."

"Hmm. The swelling is not as bad as I would expect. You must need fluids more than I thought." The unwelcome touch withdrew. "Open your mouth."

Instinctively, Tony clenched his jaw.

"Come, Anthony; there is no need to be so stubborn. I only wish to take your temperature. Although if you would prefer, I could insert the thermometer elsewhere."

Grudgingly, Tony allowed Ari to slip the cold glass tube under his tongue.

"Good boy. See; you can be cooperative, with the correct... motivation. Now; just keep that in for a minute..." The doctor wrapped what Tony recognised as a blood pressure cuff around his arm and inflated it expertly.

"Hmm. Rather low. And your temperature..." He pulled the thermometer from Tony's mouth and examined it. "101 point five. Oh, dear. Anthony, as a physician, I must insist you take at least a little water."

"How do I know it's not spiked?" Asked Tony, painfully.

"Oh; is that what is concerning you?" Tony didn't buy the note of surprise in his voice. "I am afraid you shall simply have to trust me."

His prisoner managed a snort.

"If you will not drink willingly, I shall have to make you; for your own good, Anthony. I do not have intravenous equipment here, but I will put a tube down your throat if you force me to. Even if the water is tainted, as you believe, refusing it will only cause you more discomfort."

Disturbingly tender fingers lifted Tony's chin and pressed the neck of a blissfully cool water bottle to his lips.

"Start with a few sips, Anthony; too much will make you sick," said Ari solicitously.

Tony knew he had little choice. He allowed a little of the life giving liquid into his mouth, swirling it around in an attempt to detect any drugs by taste.

"I assure you, Anthony; if I wished to poison you I would have done so already," said Ari, amused.

Cautiously, Tony swallowed the water. It felt like sweet velvet on his abused throat.

"You see? I told you it was safe. Come; a little more."

Slowly, and with infinite care, Ari fed the water to his prisoner. He even took the time to wipe stray drops from his chin, talking softly all the while. With the final dregs from the bottle, the doctor turned terrorist damped a rag and ran it soothingly over Tony's face, wiping off the sweat.

"There; now that's better, isn't it. We shall give you a little time to make sure your body does not reject it and then perhaps some food?"

"I know what you're doing," said Tony.

"I am simply trying to make you more comfortable, Anthony."

"No; you're trying to induce Stockholm syndrome. First you feed me a load of crap about your messed up childhood, knowing I can relate to it, thanks to Ziva. Then you make me as uncomfortable as possible so you can come play doctor and win some gratitude."

"I am flattered that you think me so devious. But no; I am simply trying to keep you alive. You still have a role to play in this little game."

"Games are what you play with dice, or cards; not nuclear weapons."

Tony didn't need to see Ari's face to know he was smiling as he leaned close to whisper in his prisoner's ear.

"But my kind of games are far more entertaining, my friend."

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Ziva sat alone in the back of the plane, knowing that she would have to contact Mossad and tell them that Ari had gone rogue. She still could not quite bring herself to believe it. Her adored older brother had always been the one who made her laugh, tended her grazed knees, protected her from boys who pulled her hair; ever since she was very small. She had always looked forwards to his infrequent visits to her home in Tel Aviv; Ari was never too busy to play with her or tell her stories like her father.

When Tali had died, it was Ari who held Ziva as she cried; who supported her and helped her overcome the crushing grief of her favourite sister's death.

This... This, was just... it couldn't be true; Ari would never betray her like this; betray their family; their shared blood...

Her head snapped up as she felt someone approach.

"Hi," said Kate uncertainly. "It's cold in here; I thought you might like some coffee." She proffered a cup.

"Thank you," said Ziva, warily, "but I prefer tea."

"Oh. Well, if you're sure." She took a seat beside the younger woman, holding the cup between her hands for warmth. "Probably the safe option anyway," she commented. "Gibbs made it to his own specifications. One cup of this could take off your stomach lining."

"Did you want something, Special Agent Todd?" Asked Ziva, impatient with the small talk.

"You can call me Kate. Everyone does." The NCIS agent hesitated. "You're... close... to Ari, aren't you?"

"We have known each other a long time," stated Ziva defensively. "Since we were children."

"Really? I thought Ari grew up in Gaza?"

"He spent time in Tel Aviv as well. What is your point?"

"It must have been a big shock to you, to hear Gibbs use his name."

"Obviously."

"I can't imagine how I'd feel, if it had been Tony who was the traitor. I mean, I've only known him two years; and I couldn't tell you much about him beyond cop stories, drunken Frat boy escapades and all the dates he's described in far more detail than I really wanted."

"Agent DiNozzo seemed the type to... what is the phrase? Kiss and sell?"

"I think you mean kiss and tell. And I sincerely doubt most of it was true. The only woman he's dated that I've actually met was another NCIS agent and he wouldn't say much about her. Tony doesn't talk about the important things in life."

"He was very... direct, when I met him. About the mission."

Kate smiled. "Trust me, Tony's direct about most things. At least, until you ask him something personal."

"He is very close to Gibbs, yes?" Ziva asked curiously.

"Half the time, they finish each other's sentences. Tony's the only one who really gets what Gibbs is thinking. Not really surprising; they've been partners for a long time. It... was really hard on Gibbs, when we thought we'd lost him."

"Only on Gibbs?"

"On all of us, though I hate to admit it. While I might not trust Tony to keep his hands off my purse, cell phone, PDA, lunch, computer, or any other personal possessions... When you trust someone to watch your back, you put your life in their hands."

"And you would trust Special Agent DiNozzo with your life?"

"I have, plenty of times. I have to truly believe that if it were a choice between his life and mine, Tony would put me first."

"A trust that is not easily given," Ziva said quietly. "And unforgivable, if broken."

"Did you trust Ari that much?" Kate asked, carefully.

"In Mossad, we are taught not to trust." Ziva replied briskly. "Every officer must stand alone; working with others is considered a necessary risk."

"Pretty lonely way to live."

"We are all alone, Kate. Always."

The distance in her eyes made it clear that the conversation was over.

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Let me know what you thought.


	12. Following the Evidence

CROSSOVER ALERT! MAJOR MAJOR CROSSOVER!

I didn't intend it to be so major, actually; I'm not a huge fan of CSI: Miami. The characters are two dimensional, fairly wooden, and much too perfect looking to be believable. I mean, who goes to a crime scene in a pristine white suit (Calleigh) and doesn't get even a speck of blood on it? And can you see even Ryan getting poison ivy on his 'boys'? Cos I can't. (Greg Sanders from Vegas? Absolutely.) And the stories are even more far-fetched than New York. NCIS is way better than any of the CSI shows because it doesn't take itself too seriously. (McGee's teeth, anyone?)

And after that brief rant, it's on with the story...

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Chapter 12: Following the Evidence

The NCIS agents were met at the airport by two police department Humvees, an ambulance and a coroner's van. The driver of the lead Hummer approached Gibbs as he barked orders at his team.

"Abby! You and Fiver are going to the PD labs with Ducky. I want what you have processed before the evidence from the boat comes in; and McGee, start working on narrowing our search area. Duck, I need an ID on our dead guy ASAP. Kate, Ziva; we're going to the scene. Boyd, check in with Fisher and see if he has anything useful."

"Special Agent Gibbs?" He turned to see a red haired man removing his designer shades to meet the steely blue gaze. "Lieutenant Horatio Caine, Miami Dade PD."

Gibbs assessed him in a glance; a few years younger than himself, and definitely aware of the politics of the situation, to come here in person.

"Appreciate your cooperation, Lieutenant," he replied shortly.

"Terrorists are everyone's problem, Agent Gibbs," the cop drawled. "I have some of my people securing the yacht; but they're not going to start to process until we get there."

"Good. You been asked to provide a police guard for Ingrum in the hospital?"

"I've already made arrangements."

"The CIA brief you about the op?"

"Special Agent Fisher was not forthcoming. All I know is that there's a group of terrorists trying to move a very important package though the area."

"Yeah, sounds like him. Have they put out a BOLO?"

"Not one specific enough to be much help."

Gibbs reached into his jacket and produced two photographs; a still of Ari from the NCIS morgue security camera and Tony's official NCIS headshot. "Then get one out on these."

"ID's?" Caine enquired, examining the pictures.

"Ari Haswari; Hamas. And Anthony DiNozzo, CIA. He was undercover; lost contact twenty four hours ago. Also keep an eye out for Carmine Fuentes, local smuggler and owner of that boat."

"I know of him; but we've never collected enough evidence for a conviction."

"Have now. Which car's going where?"

"I'll take you to the scene; Mr Wolfe will escort your people to the lab and get them set up."

"McGee! Get all the evidence and Duck and Abby's gear into that car. Call me as soon as you have something." The young man nodded jerkily and started loading the hefty bags he was carrying into the Hummer.

"On it, Boss."

"You train your people well," Caine remarked.

A trace of a shadow crossed Gibbs' face. "It's my job," he answered simply.

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Abby's fingers hovered the cursor over the big green triangle. She'd been trying to bring herself to listen to the tape of Ari's phone conversation with Gibbs for several minutes now. She'd heard the very start, of course, when she played it to Ingrum in the airport. But for Gibbs not to tell her to analyse it immediately meant that it was bad. Really, really bad. Like, maybe, screams and thumbscrews bad.

But this was for Tony; and the sooner they found him, the sooner they could rescue him from his captor. Gibbs wouldn't be mad; he'd understand why she needed to do it. The one fact Abby couldn't bring herself to face was that she was afraid to listen to Tony's voice, after all these months of mourning him. To listen to a man she'd loved as a brother and buried as a friend, knowing it was her fault that he'd been condemned to this ordeal in the first place. If she'd been better... if she'd looked deeper at the evidence... maybe they would have figured all of this out months ago. Maybe they'd be home in her lab, discussing the latest office gossip until Gibbs swept in with that glare on his face and smacked Tony on the head for getting distracted.

The Goth had called him on it the first time they were alone after she witnessed one of Gibbs' little wake up calls.

"_Whatcha got, Abbs?" He'd asked, placing one of her sodas on the desk. _

"_Nothing yet, sir," she said stiffly. "I'll call you when I do."_

"_Something wrong, Abby?"_

"_Wrong? What could be wrong?"_

_Gibbs had simply looked at her until she met his eyes. _

"_Abbs," he said gently. _

"_You hit Tony, Gibbs!" She burst out. "I mean I know he can be annoying and he doesn't really have a great sense of when to shut up but I don't either and you never hit me and it's just not fair and I know you like him because you wouldn'tve hired him if you didn't and he didn't deserve that. Tony is a really sweet guy and just because you're his boss doesn't give you the right to hit him whenever you feel like it." _

"_No, it doesn't," Gibbs told her mildly. _

"_Then why'd you do it, Gibbs?"_

"_Because that's what he needed."_

"_Needed? You think he needed to be smacked like a naughty puppy who peed on the rug?"_

"_He needed to know I was paying attention to what he said."_

"_And you think hitting him is the best way to pay attention?"_

"_What did he do the first time you hugged him, Abby?"_

"_He stiffened up; but I kinda caught him by surprise. What doest that have to do with anything?"_

"_And every single time since?"_

"_Well, he doesn't really relax into it yet; but I'm working on him."_

"_DiNozzo's not used to being hugged. Not used to being touched. Definitely not used to any kind of attention except flirting and yelling. Doesn't know how to handle any other kind."_

"_Are you saying..." Abby's voice trembled and died. "What are you saying, Gibbs?"_

"_He's not used to people caring about him, Abby," the ex marine told her gently. He continued softly as he walked out of her door, almost beyond her hearing. "Maybe no one ever has."_

"Well, I care about you, Tony," she said aloud to the empty sound lab. "And I'm gonna be strong, and do this for you. So, if Gibbs is pissed off, it's your fault."

She clicked the button.

When the recording ended, she took a moment to wipe the tears from her face before she got to work.

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Carmine Fuentes' ill-fated yacht sat low in the water, practically settled into the shallow creek bed. The cops had had to trample and hack their way through the tall reeds and vegetation to reach the boat, its gleaming fibreglass hull creating a glaringly human contrast to the wilderness.

Gibbs was painstakingly dusting the deck rail of the _Isabella_ for fingerprints, moving with a swift dexterity that spoke of years of practice. Most of the prints he'd found were hopelessly smudged; but he'd lifted them anyway. There was no way he was going to risk missing a single fragment of evidence that could lead them to Tony. They'd already found a disturbance in the reeds a little further along and a single tyre tread, suggesting that whoever had dumped the craft had known there was a motorcycle waiting for him to escape on. There was a plaster cast setting in the rut even as Gibbs worked.

He listened to Kate instructing Ziva on evidence collection and forensic techniques as they worked on the inside of the yacht while the CSI diver, Delco, searched the creek bed. Caine was busy covering him against alligators with a rifle.

Gibbs' fingers stilled as he spotted a stain on the railing. He switched the brush for a swab and rubbed it gently over the crusted brown material before adding a little reagent from a dropper. The swab turned pink; blood.

Gibbs crouched for a closer look, squinting to try and focus on the mark. "Kate!" He called out.

The young woman stuck her head around the cabin door. "You have something, Gibbs?"

"Blood on the rail; 's not much, but I think there's a hair stuck in it. What do you see?"

Kate, too, crouched close. "You're right; there's a couple of hairs caught in the blood. Guess your eyesight isn't so bad after all."

Gibbs gave her one of his lizard stares. "Just collect the evidence," he said, standing again to ease his aching knees.

"Someone must've fallen and caught their head..." Kate positioned her white latex glove under the hairs and scrutinised them closely. "Gibbs, this can'tve come from Ari; or Fuentes."

"Why not?"

"Ari has black hair; and since he's half Cuban and half Italian, I assume Fuentes does too. These hairs are lighter than mine. So either Ari's using Caucasian terrorists again, or it's..."

"Tony," Gibbs finished for her. "You about done in there?"

"Photos, sketches, prints; bagged and tagged everything we could," Kate answered, scraping the crusted blood carefully into an evidence jar.

"I want to go over everything with a UV light; make sure there's no more blood we missed. Get Ziva to help."

"Ok." She hesitated, dropping her voice conspiratorially, still crouched down close to the railing. "Um, Gibbs? Are you sure we should be letting her..." She trailed off when Gibbs looked down into her eyes, expression closed and harsh.

"Are you questioning me, Special Agent Todd?" He demanded.

A spark of defiance showed in Kate's chocolate eyes. "Tony would, if he were here."

"No; he'd have more sense. Now get to work. Caine! You got anything?"

"Eric found some trash; I can't guarantee that it will prove useful. A word, Agent Gibbs?"

The older man crossed the gangway that connected the Isabella to the marshy bank of the creek. "Something wrong, Lieutenant?"

"I get the impression that there is more to all of this than you're saying."

"Probably because there is. I'll give you more information when it becomes necessary."

"You have a... personal connection to this case, don't you?"

"Ari and I have crossed paths before," Gibbs replied, rubbing his shoulder absently.

"Is that why the CIA have brought you in, or is there a Naval connection?"

"Little of both."

"And might I know what that connection is?"

In reply, Gibbs snatched the rifle from his hands and took aim in an instant, following his target before he even had it settled against his shoulder. Two shots rang out in quick succession.

The alligator that had been approaching Delco in the shallows turned slowly upside down to reveal its pale underbelly; killed instantly by the two bullets in its brain.

"Should really keep a closer eye on your people," said Gibbs calmly, ejecting the shell casings and handing it back. "Never know when they're gonna get snapped up."

"Hey, thanks," said Delco, looking stunned at the speed of his reaction.

"Welcome." Gibbs turned to yell out to the two women, who had emerged onto the deck, weapons drawn. "Stand down; just a gator."

"Marine?" Asked Caine, as Kate passed him to collect the UV lights from the car.

"Sniper," she confirmed. "I thought the Secret Service had high firearms standards before I met him."

"Hey, I think I got something," Delco called out, from where he was crouched in the water beside the alligator. He pulled an evidence baggie from his belt and picked something out of the reptile's teeth.

"What is it?" Asked Gibbs.

"Fabric; and it's bloodstained. I think we're gonna have to take the gator back to the lab and see what it managed to swallow."

"Or who," Horatio intoned, slipping the shades in his hand back onto his nose.

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I had to do it! It's practically the law that Horatio gets the last line in every scene he's in and then puts his sunglasses on.

Quite a plot heavy CSI-style chapter this week; let me know what you thought.


	13. Breadcrumbs

A/N: Err... um, hi. (Ducks all the people yelling "Where the hell have you been?!!!")

Contrary to what I'm sure some of you were starting to believe, I am alive. And my three month hiatus was due to... err... what's that thing that happens outside the big bay window my computer sits in front of? Err, yeah, that's right. The world. Sorry about that. I do try to avoid it, but sometimes it gets in the way of the important things in life (ie fanfiction). I'll try really, really hard not to let it happen again.

Um, sorry. I really am, honest. There'll be another chapter along in a couple of days, just to prove it.

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Chapter 13: Breadcrumbs

Tony felt rather better after his drink. His parched throat and swollen tongue had faded and the pounding headache had lessened slightly. Tony's left hand felt almost unbearably inflated, the skin stretching uncomfortably as the broken digit swelled with fluid. A hot ache filled his whole hand; but as long as he didn't try to move it, the pain was bearable. When he did try, he almost passed out again.

He could still hear the faint, maddening drip of the distant tap and strained his hearing for any more information about what Ari was up to. All he got for his trouble was the indistinct murmur of voices and occasional birdsong.

The knowledge that there really was nothing he could do was wearing on the active young man; he was sick of being a puppet in this sick game of Ari's, as he had been for almost three months; completely unable to control his own fate. And the thought that Gibbs was going to risk it all to help him, probably Kate and McGee too...

_At least Fiver and the others knew what they were dying for,_ he thought darkly. _And it sure as hell wasn't me. _

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Gibbs strode into the lab space that had been temporarily turned over to Abby's capable hands, coffee in one hand and jumbo Caf-Pow in the other. Fiver and McGee had their heads together over one computer, Kate was making a phone call in front of her laptop and Abby was scrutinising some test results and twirling a pigtail absently around her finger. Ziva had taken her gun apart and was cleaning it meticulously in the corner.

He set the cup down in convenient grabbing distance, knowing that results would come faster when lubricated.

"Gibbs!" Abby exclaimed, snatching for the cup. "Caf-Pow in a strange town; no wonder you were gone so long."

"I had to update the Director on one of Fisher's secure lines. Whatcha got, Abby?"

"Well, nothing on our John Doe, yet. His prints and DNA are running though every database I could think of. But Major Mass-Spec's Floridian cousin had more luck with the trace on his hands and clothes. I have dirt, engine oil, gasoline, chocolate, GSR, and that old terrorist favourite; C4."

"C4?" Asked McGee. "If they have a nuclear weapon, what do they need that for?"

"Well, at least it should be easy to trace," Kate commented, apparently on hold. "All military grade explosives have ID markers mixed into the formula."

"Correctamundo, Kate," Abby declared. "But these don't."

"Then it must have been home made," McGee ventured. "Right?"

"Nope," the Goth typed rapidly on her computer, bringing up two identical graphs. "Composition is exact; it's off the shelf."

"That's not possible," Kate asserted.

"That's just it; it shouldn't be possible," said Abby, smugly

"Oh, it's possible," Gibbs informed them. "Just tough to get outside of certain circles. You know anything about this, Ziva?"

"I could get you some untraceable C4 within thirty six hours, Gibbs," She said matter of factly. "Perhaps they are using it to cover their tracks. Or as a diversion from their real target."

"Maybe they don't have enough plutonium to make a conventional nuclear weapon," Fiver suggested. "I mean, you need at least a kilogram to reach critical mass and even then, it's tough to detonate; if they have less, they could be planning a dirty bomb instead of a true nuke."

"Either one is bad, David. The radiation sickness alone could kill thousands," said McGee soberly.

The brief, solemn silence was broken, predictably, by Gibbs.

"Anything else, Abbs?"

"The dirt is typical of what you'd expect practically anywhere in the 'Glades. Peat, moss, reeds; nothing distinctive. I... listened to the tape, Gibbs."

"And?"

"Why didn't you tell me he hurt Tony?" Her voice trembled slightly.

"Need you focussed, Abbs. What did you hear?"

"Besides Ari breaking one of my best friend's bones? Not much. I'm guessing the place Tony's being kept is a sealed room; like maybe a basement? There's a slight echo."

"Who builds a basement in a swamp, Abbs?"

"Who builds a boat in a basement, Gibbs?" She parroted back at him. "There is one sound I can't quite figure out; it's kind of a chug. Maybe an engine?"

"McGee?"

"Um, well, I called in some favours and managed to get some satellite images of the search area from the past twenty four hours. There's a lot of vegetation, but I've cross referenced with maps of the area and figured out where all the structures are. Some are private residences, hunting cabins, vacation homes..."

"Any of them have activity?" Gibbs interrupted.

"About a dozen on the last sweep; satellite will be passing over again soon and we'll get some more images."

"Ok. Abbs, keep working on the tape. Kate, help her. Fiver, McGee; try to narrow our search area. Ziva, call in every marker you can. I want that guy identified." Orders given, Gibbs turned back towards the door.

"Hey!" Abby protested. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not polite to run right after you get your results, Gibbs? Where are you going?"

"I'm going to see if Ducky figured out who that gator had for breakfast."

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The next time the door to Tony's damp, humid prison opened, Ari was nowhere to be seen. The man who stumped in carrying a water bottle and a sleeve of crackers was vaguely recognisable as one of his henchmen from the boat. The ex-cop estimated that he was a couple of inches shorter but at least fifty pounds heavier than himself; he wouldn't relish taking this guy on even on his best day.

"You the messenger, or the delivery boy?" Tony asked.

"I am the one with the water, CIA man," the man snarled, with a heavy accent. "Cause me any problems, and I shall pour it out onto the ground."

"Problems?" Tony asked incredulously, tugging against his bonds to emphasise his point. "What am I gonna do, sneeze on you?"

"Haswari warned us not to underestimate you."

"Really? I'm flattered. And my name's Tony, by the way."

"I know who you are." The man dropped crackers and water into Tony's lap and reached for his uninjured right hand. "I am going to untie one arm; you may eat and drink, silently, under my supervision. When you have finished, I will retie you."

Tony almost gasped in relief when the bonds fell away from his chafed wrist; he flexed his fingers cautiously to gauge the damage. It stung as the skin pulled, but his hand seemed fully functional.

"Is there gonna be any chance of a bathroom break anytime soon?" He asked conversationally.

The man produced a large hunting knife from his back pocket and gestured threateningly with the blade. "I told you not to talk," he growled.

"You said I couldn't speak while I was eating," Tony replied reasonably. "I'm not eating yet. He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Can you at least ask Ari? That's a lot of water; it all has to go somewhere."

"All right; I will ask. Just shut up and eat; I do not wish to be here any longer than I must."

"You and me both," Tony muttered, resorting to his teeth to open the bottle.

The terrorist stood patiently, arms folded, staring intently at Tony while he nibbled some crackers and swigged water, knife still held casually in his hand.

"I'm done," Tony told him, tipping the dregs of the water over his still bound and heavily bandaged left hand; the cool water on the fevered skin felt heavenly.

"You would have done better not to waste that," the terrorist told him, reaching for the discarded bindings and pocketing the blade. "It could well be your last."

"I thought Ari wanted me alive?"

"For now." He leaned threateningly closer to his captive, hissing his next words only inches from Tony's face. "When you cease to be useful, Mr CIA, I will take the greatest of pleasure in ending your pathetic life."

Tony met his eyes without a trace of fear. "I'm sure you will," he replied, wrinkling his nose. "But do me a favour and get a breath mint first?"

The terrorist spat in Tony's face and yanked viciously on the rope, making it bite sharply into already broken skin. The NCIS agent schooled his expression to keep the pain out of his eyes.

"I will make sure you scream for the end, _Tony,_" he snarled, making his captive's name sound like the filthiest of insults, as he tied his right wrist back to the arm of the chair so tightly it almost cut off the circulation.

"I doubt that," DiNozzo replied, a rare feral glint in his usually warm blue-gold eyes even as the saliva trailed slimily down his cheek.

As soon as the terrorist slammed and locked the door behind him, Tony flexed his left wrist and allowed a tight, pained smile to blossom on his face. Finally, an opportunity to actually do something.

The water, as he'd hoped, had loosened the bandage around his hand. A little squirming, and it would come off, making the hand slim enough to slip through the fairly loose rope binding his left arm to the chair. Ari, as a good doctor, had allowed space for further swelling when he retied it after splinting the broken finger. And no one would expect him to attempt to escape using a freshly broken and partially immobilised hand.

It would be damn painful, but pain was something Tony could deal with. Inactivity was not. He gritted his teeth and got to work.

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It's snowing hard here right now, so I'll have plenty of time to work on the next instalment this weekend. It'll be up by Monday, Girl Scout's honour.


	14. Gator Aid

A/N: Massive thanks to everyone who took the time to review; it gives me a warm feeling inside, which is hard to come by around here right now. It's sleeting outside.

Technically speaking, Supergirl, I was a Girl Guide; but it's pretty much the same thing; i.e. lots of marshmallows, knots and woggles. Don't ask.

Oh, and thanks for no one slating me for copying a great big chunk of dialogue out of the last chapter from 'Twilight'. You know, that incredibly cute scene between Tony and Abby and Burt the farting hippo?

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Chapter 14: Gator Aid

Gibbs heard Ducky long before he saw him; and started to smell what he was working on not long after. The stenches of rotting fish and decomposing flesh combined would have made even Tony's iron stomach roil.

"... by no means the most unusual case I have heard of. I recall back in the summer of '89... or was it '88? No, definitely '89. A young man, who was autopsied by a colleague of mine, was found inside a giant anaconda in London Zoo. His murderer had coshed him over the head and then fed him whole to the poor creature, hoping to hide his crime. Unfortunately, he did not reckon on the extreme slowness of a snake's digestive process. The keeper immediately noticed that the snake had eaten something large and had it x-rayed. I'm sure you can imagine his reaction at finding his charge had consumed a human." Finally, Gibbs pushed open the door to the autopsy room, where Ducky and an attractive black woman were standing over a steel slab, the corpse of the alligator he'd shot lying upside down before them with the belly sliced open.

"Once the body was removed, it was found to be in such pristine condition that all of the forensic evidence had been perfectly preserved, allowing even the limited technology of the time to identify the killer without too much difficulty."

"Sure hope you're having as much luck with our gator, Duck."

"Unfortunately not, Jethro. Dr Alexandra Woods, this is my colleague, Special Agent Gibbs. I'm afraid he prefers the direct approach."

"Most men do." The woman gave a welcoming smile. "I'm afraid there's not much we can tell you about your John Doe, Agent Gibbs. He was of middle eastern descent, twenty five to thirty five, and in good shape unless you count the bullet hole in his chest."

"Indeed. The shot was a most unfortunate one for him; it entered at an unusual angle under the rib cage and travelled almost diagonally up through the lung, piercing the heart and taking a healthy chip out of the right clavicle on its way out. From the powder burns and stippling, the weapon must have been pressed tight against the skin."

"There were a few bruises consistent with a struggle; but Ducky tells me you already know who he was fighting with."

"We do. Anything at all you can give me on where this guy's been the past few days, Duck?"

"I often speak to my patients, Jethro; but they are very rarely capable of answering back. I'm afraid you will have to ask our dear Abigail."

"And speaking of your forensic scientist, I should be getting these evidence jars up to her," Alex said. "If you'll excuse me, Doctor?"

"But of course, my dear. I'm sure you will get along like a house on fire." The resident ME moved across the room to strip off her bloody gown and gloves and then departed with the evidence.

"Our crocodilian friend here is proving something more of a challenge than our dead terrorist, I'm afraid," Ducky announced, up to the elbows in the world's largest novelty handbag. "Not, of course, to confuse this lovely example of the American alligator with the African crocodile. Few people realise that crocodilian is actually a collective term for the family of aquatic reptiles that includes alligators, crocodiles, caimen and their rather bizarre and now endangered relative, the gharial..." Gibbs interrupted his old friend, voice harsh with frustration.

"Can we skip the biology class, Duck? We kinda have a time crunch on this one, in case you've forgotten."

"I had not; and I resent the accusation." The ME replied indignantly. "I am just as concerned about young Anthony as you are."

"I know that, Duck; it's just..." Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose, a rare sign of weakness. "It's been a hell of a couple months."

Ducky's eyes softened. "Quite so, my friend. I am certain that you will be relieved that the stomach contents of this poor creature are definitely not pieces of our dear boy."

Gibbs closed his eyes briefly. "You're sure?"

"Indeed I am." Ducky picked up a large tray from behind him and proffered it to Gibbs. Inside was a human arm, covered in punctures and lacerations. The pale, bloated flesh was streaked with blood, mud and a slimy yellowish fluid Gibbs was quite glad he couldn't identify. It had been severed at the elbow, with exposed bone gleaming whitely through the shredded flesh. The former Marine was very grateful for his strong stomach.

"Fingerprints, Duck?"

"Not as yet; they are among the evidence on its way to Abby. But note the shape of the fingers; rather stubby, you see? Anthony's are much longer and more slender. Very artistic, I've always thought. Did you know that he played the piano in his youth?"

"Don't recall it coming up."

"I gather he was rather talented. It is such a shame that he gave it up. And, as I am certain you recall, I had occasion to put a few stitches in the back of the right one not long after he joined us, leaving a small scar; which is conspicuously absent here."

"I remember; asshole with a broken bottle. He was lucky it wasn't his throat."

"Isn't he always?"

"So far," Gibbs replied grimly. "What can you tell me about whoever owned this arm?"

"Adult male, twenty five to forty years old, dark haired; some calluses, but not enough to suggest a truly hard life."

"TOD?"

"We have been over this before, Jethro; there are no livers in severed limbs. The beginnings of the digestive process have complicated the estimate, but twenty four to forty eight hours would be my guess."

"Fits with the time Tony went missing."

"Approximately, yes. Has there been any news?"

Gibbs raised a brow. "You think I'd still be here if I had a lead, Duck?"

"No; but I still felt it necessary to ask," Ducky replied, turning to replace the tray on the table and pick up a scalpel and forceps to continue his work. "Protocol can be very important in these situations. For example, did I ever tell you about the time... oh." The door was still swinging on its hinges; but Gibbs was nowhere to be seen.

"I do wish he wouldn't do that," Ducky complained to the empty morgue.

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Abby played her mystery noise over and over again, listening intently.

"Urgh! This is so frustrating!" She exclaimed." I know I've heard this somewhere before, but I just can't place it."

"It sounds pretty distorted," ventured McGee. "Is this the original or the cleaned up version?"

"Cleaned up, of course. But I can't enhance it any more or it's gonna start sounding like one of Tony's Sean Connery impressions."

"Have you tried going back to the original?" Fiver asked. "Maybe that would help."

"I don't want to," she admitted quietly. "It's right around the time Tony's finger got broken."

The sudden ringing silence was broken by the Miami ME nudging the door open with her hip, a large and heavy box in her hands.

"Hi there. I have some evidence for Abigail?"

"You must have been working with Ducky," said Kate. "Everyone else calls her Abby."

"That's right. What is it with him and contractions? He always calls me Alexandra. Alex Woods; I'm the local ME."

"Caitlyn; but you can call me Kate," The former secret service agent performed the introductions and Alex handed over the evidence log for an uncharacteristically quiet Abby to sign.

"I'd put those samples in a fume cabinet before you open them if I were you," she advised. "Alligator stomach contents are not exactly fragrant; especially not when they're human flesh."

"The alligator ate someone?" Asked McGee, going pale at the thought.

"Not all of him. Managed to get a whole arm though; there's blood samples, trace, what's left of a sleeve and a ten card in the box."

"Those, I can work with," Abby said, determinedly.

"Hey, you're a local," Kate said. "Maybe you can help with this sound we're trying to identify."

Alex looked rather startled. "Well, I'll take a guess; but I don't know how helpful I can be."

"It's from out in the 'glades somewhere," Abby explained, replaying the elusive engine noise. "Ring any bells?"

The ME listened intently. "Wait... play that again?" Abby obeyed instantly. Alex's eyes widened as she turned to the younger woman.

"I know what that sound is," she announced.

Abby immediately started to babble. "You do! That's great! What is it? C'mon, don't just leave me hanging here! Spill it!"

"It's a hovercraft," Alex managed as Abby paused for breath.

"Are you sure?" The Goth demanded.

"I'm pretty certain of it; there are guides who take people through the 'glades alligator spotting with them. I've taken my kids a few times."

"Is there any kind of set route they take that could tell us where they were?" Kate asked.

"No; but by law every hovercraft is fitted with a GPS transmitter, so that any poaching incidents can be accurately mapped and the craft can be found if they get into trouble. So if you know the time this call was made..."

"We can cross reference hovercraft positions with structures in our search area and figure out which building they're using!" Impulsively, Abby threw her arms around the older woman.

"Thank you," she whispered, with heartfelt gratitude, before spinning back to her computer.

"You're welcome, honey," Alex replied, rather bemused.

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Gibbs climbed out of the borrowed PD sedan, followed by a cruiser containing four local SWAT guys. He'd decided to split his forces; four separate teams would converge on the house from all sides. He was leading the frontal assault; Kate and Boyd had the back, Ziva and McGee the side with the garage and Caine the opposite one. He wanted at least one person he trusted not to shoot before they looked for Tony in each squad; and the Miami SWAT teams had better hope like hell that they didn't get it wrong. Fiver was back in the PD headquarters, monitoring the operation remotely and helping the coordination of the attack. He checked that his earpiece was in properly before he spoke.

"You sure this is the place, McGee?" He asked softly.

"Positive, Boss. There was only one hovercraft in our search area close enough to a building to pick up the engine noise during Ari's phone call. And the satellite pictures show at least one truck parked outside as of two hours ago."

"Records show it's owned by a rental company," Kate chipped in. "There was some flood damage to the building; there's supposed to be a repairs crew arriving next week."

"Caine; are the roadblocks and the patrol boats in place?"

"They are; and there are two choppers standing by to help keep track of them if our terrorists try to run."

"Good. All units; move in; and keep it quiet. We need to surprise them before Ari gets the chance to kill his hostage. "

There was a chorus of affirmatives through his earpiece; and the groups began to move almost silently through the swamp towards the unassuming house.

"Sit rep," Gibbs whispered, crouching in the undergrowth just before he'd have to break cover and make his presence unmissable.

"We're ready, Gibbs," Kate came in. "No movement I can see."

"In position, Boss," McGee whispered, slightly out of breath.

"As are we, Agent Gibbs," Caine added.

"On my mark. Three, two, one..."

As if it had been listening, the house picked precisely that moment to explode spectacularly, the force of the blast causing the very ground to tremble. Instinctively, all of the approaching LEOs hit the ground, covering their heads.

By the time Gibbs' team looked up, he was already halfway to the burning house and still accelerating.

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Oh, c'mon! I needed my cliff fix! But maybe if I get lots of encouragement, I won't leave you hanging too long...


	15. Running In, Running Out

A/N: As always, I bow down before all of those who took the time to review the last chapter. Sorry for yet another long wait, guys; but RL has had a few surprises in store lately.

**I'M GONNA BE AN AUNTIE!!! AND A SISTER IN LAW!!! SQUEEE!!!!!!**

(I may possibly be a tiny bit overexcited.)

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Chapter 15: Running In, Running Out

Finally, feeling the broken edges of his smallest sinister proximal phalanx grinding together and fighting back the nausea that rose in his throat, Tony pulled his left hand free from his bindings. The process off wriggling it out had been long and agonising; but triumph surged through the NCIS agent even as he winced, examining the appendage as best he could in the weak light.

His hand had ballooned; all his fingers felt uncomfortably inflated and stiff, and when he'd wriggled out of the bandages he'd also managed to displace the splint on the broken pinkie finger. Ugly black and purple bruising had bloomed across the skin and Tony knew that all the moving around was only making it worse.

_Ducky's going to kill me when he finds out about this._..

The thought warmed him more than his success. Clumsily, Tony set to work picking at the knot on his right wrist with his teeth gritted, trying, not very sucessfully, not to move anything but his thumb and index finger.

Finally, the overly tight rope started to slacken; Tony took a deep breath and yanked his right arm free with a single violent motion. He hissed as blood flooded back into the hand; pins and needles prickled painfully and he'd acquired a terrible rope burn on top of the earlier abrasions. But he had little choice; Tony was aware that time was against him; Ari or one of his men could be back any minute. As a matter of principle, though, he took a moment to wipe at the spot on his cheek where Ari's man had spat on him.

He waited until he actually had some feeling back before setting to work on the ropes on his ankles. The knots were much easier to undo now he could use both hands. At last; Tony was free.

_Harry Houdini, eat your heart out_, he thought in satisfaction, taking a couple of minutes to re-splint his broken finger as best he could one-handed. The result was a messy knot of gauze tying the pinkie finger to the ring one with a stick clenched between them; hardly ideal, but it would have to do until he could get out of here. Tony flexed as many muscles as he could while sitting down and then got cautiously to his feet, aware that there'd be a price to pay for having stayed in the same position for so long. His legs cramped uncomfortably and there was a painful twinge in his back; but it was the sudden swirl of dizziness that almost sent him back into the chair. He gripped the arms reflexively and tried not to fall back as his broken finger jarred. Tony tasted bile at the back of his mouth; he swallowed hard, trying desperately to hold onto his meagre meal. The NCIS agent knew that in his state, he couldn't afford to lose any more fluids.

Once the head rush was over and the coloured lights had stopped flashing behind his eyelids, Tony managed to stand upright and take a few shaky steps to examine his prison in more detail.

The room was about ten feet square, and bare except for the chair he'd been tied to. Ari had certainly not left any convenient weapons or keys lying around; but Tony had worked with less. With a pang as he thought of his belt knife, lying somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, he listened carefully at the door for any signs of a guard. Tony could hear voices speaking in what he presumed was Arabic, but it was impossible to judge if their owners were in sight of his prison. And considering his current condition, he knew he'd have no chance in a fight.

Which meant he had only one option. Tony turned his attention to the small, boarded up window that was the only source of light in the stuffy room. Half a dozen one by four planks had been crudely nailed over the opening from the outside, allowing only cracks of daylight through. He could feel a very faint draught on his face; the glass was already broken. It would be a tight squeeze, but the NCIS Agent figured if he used the chair to stand on and twisted his shoulders just right... he could make it. Tony's eyes scanned the room for a tool; and spotted a skirting board that had started to peel itself away from the wall. A bit of effort and several winces later, and he'd yanked it free and wound some leftover bandages around the end to deaden the noise. Then all that remained was to use his improvised hammer to knock the boards out of the broken window onto the soft dirt below.

Tony grinned. "You may not be irreplaceable, Anthony, but Gibbs has gotta be impressed by this one," he told himself under his breath.

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Fiver was manning an impressive array of computers in the PD's headquarters, with several linked monitors. One showed satellite images of the building where they believed Tony was being held, others live pictures from the various roadblocks set up around the site. Another screen was devoted to a map of the area with colour coded dots moving across it representing the various LEOs involved. Officially, Agent Fisher was in charge of the operation; but the complex coordination needed by Gibbs' plan meant that David was far more qualified to help. That didn't stop the control freak CIA agent leaning over his shoulder all the time; in combination with the stress of the mission and his own fears for Tony, it was enough to make even the timid computer geek snappy.

He leant back in his seat with a sigh. At least Fisher had finally taken the hint and stepped outside to make a phone call.

"Hey, Fiver; can we talk to Gibbs yet?" Abby asked, taking her own turn peering over his shoulder as she sucked noisily on her Caf Pow. "I have news."

"Not unless it's vital to the success of this assault, Abby," David replied, preoccupied with worry. "We need to maintain radio silence as far as we can."

"Oh. Well, it's not that urgent, I guess. Gibbs just likes to know things as soon as I find them. Somehow, he always shows up in my lab just after I make a discovery; it's like he has a sixth sense."

"Or, maybe he bugged your lab," Fiver suggested.

"Nooo," said Abby, with a condescending smile. "I checked."

"Well, what did you find out?"

"I identified our gatorbait."

David stared incredulously at her. "Gator... bait?" He asked, slowly.

"You know, the severed arm Ducky found inside the alligator Gibbs shot? It belonged to your smuggler; Carmine Fuentes. I matched his fingerprints on AFIS."

"Oh. Well, um, that won't really affect what Agent Gibbs is doing, will it?"

"I guess not. Any sign of Tony yet?"

"No; but the teams are almost in attack positions. Both the trucks we spotted on satellite images are still there, and we assume there's a third vehicle in the garage."

"NCIS agents do not assume, Fiver bunny," Abby chided, wagging a finger at him. "They check and recheck."

"Tony told me that, "assumptions make an ass out of you and me."

"If that's not a rule, it totally should be," she asserted. "Maybe if I hadn't assumed the DNA records were right, we wouldn't be here now."

"DNA records?"

"The CIA faked Tony's death by tampering with the law enforcement DNA database. I matched the body in his car with the database; it was months before Gibbs came up with the idea of checking the results against an independent sample. The worst part is, he won't even be mad at me."

"You _want_ Gibbs to be mad at you?"

"Not Gibbs! Tony!"

Fiver tried very hard to wrap his head around that one. "Um, you don't get along?"

"Of course we do! Tony's one of my best friends; we never fight. But he'll just tell me it's ok to make me feel better even though I know it was my mistake. But he won't blame me at all; he'll just say..."

She lowered her voice into a rough Tony impression. "'You followed the evidence, Abbs, you couldn'tve known it wasn't right.'" She shifted back into her usual tones, becoming increasingly shrill as she began to vent.

"And then he'd tell me not to worry; but I am worried and I know Gibbs is worried but he won't blame me either and if it hadn't been for that email we might never have known what really happened and what if I don't ever get the chance to say sorry and hug him and and and..."

"Abigail, my dear, please do remember to breathe," said Ducky comfortingly, entering the room to place an arm around her shoulders. "Working yourself up like this is not going to help anyone; least of all David here, while he is trying to assist Jethro."

"Right... I know you're right, Ducky..." She slurped anxiously at her soda again.

"_Sit rep,"_ Gibbs' voice whispered through the communications system that had been wired into Fiver's computers.

"_We're ready, Gibbs,"_ Kate came in. _"No movement I can see." _

"_In position, Boss,"_ McGee whispered, slightly out of breath.

"_As are we, Agent Gibbs,"_ Caine added.

"_On my mark. Three, two, one..."_

Fiver, Ducky and Abby watched in shock as a plume of smoke and flame ripped through the building in the centre of the satellite image.

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Gibbs ducked, his old soldier's reflexes kicking in and covering his head with an arm to ward off falling debris as Ari's hideout erupted into flame. He was only halfway to the ground before paternal instinct rose in him like a tidal wave, swamping any sense of self-preservation and sending him from a crouch into a full sprint, silently screaming Tony's name.

As he ran, the distance seemed to stretch and distort; no matter how fast he moved, the house never got any closer. Nightmare images flashed through Gibbs' mind; Tony, tied down to a chair, screaming as he was burned alive by the greedy inferno; or choking on the thick black smoke as it filled his prison, gasping his life away mere feet from where Gibbs raced desperately to save him.

Gibbs didn't hesitate as he kicked in the front door of the house; he ducked to the side as smoke billowed from the opening and clawed a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his face before charging in, weapon at the ready.

"Tony!" He yelled, trying not to choke as his eyes began to water. He could barely see through the thick black smoke and his lungs already burned from the effort of breathing. The room seemed large; presumably a living room, but there was no furniture he could see. The ex-gunny stumbled over something on the floor; he squinted his streaming eyes and identified a sleeping bag. Ari's men had been staying here.

His head jerked up instinctively at the sound of gunfire close by; but he would have to trust his team to deal with it. Right now, he was Tony's only hope.

"Tony!" He called again, trying to locate the other doors to the room. With a sense of sick certainty, he knew that Ari would have placed the charges to make the fire most intense where Tony was being held; so he ploughed onwards, using the heat that singed his skin to guide him.

Flames licked hungrily at the staircase that lead up to the upper storey; Gibbs would have to bank on Tony's prison being on ground level. He paused to place a hand on a door to gauge the heat behind it before he opened it, leading with his gun. A smoke filled kitchen, littered with dirty dishes and interrupted meals; clearly, someone had left in a hurry. But no sign of Tony.

The next door concealed a bathroom; the smoke was so thick now that Gibbs was getting light-headed, choking desperately for air as the heat seared his chest. He didn't think he could shout again even if he tried. There was only one door left; if Tony wasn't behind it... there would be nothing more he could do. Cold dread balled in his gut as Gibbs opened the third door.

It was small; dimly illuminated by a broken window allowing a weak, perfectly square beam of sunlight through the dense smoke.

And his heart stopped as he saw it falling across the solid wooden chair, ropes still tangled around the arms, and down past it onto the body that lay on the floor.

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Let me know what you thought.


	16. Sabotage

A/N: Um… Hi. Err… Sorry.

I know that this particular hiatus has been the longest yet; and I am deeply sorry. Honest.

There are a multitude of reasons why I've been absent for so long; I could list them all, but at this stage I think you'd probably prefer me to get back to the massive cliff I've had you all dangling over for the last six months.

So, with no further ado…

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Chapter 16: Sabotage

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Tony dropped his makeshift hammer and dragged the chair over to the window. He knew it was only a matter of time until one of Ari's men either came to check on him or walked around the back of the house; he had no time to be cautious. The NCIS agent climbed on top of the chair and stuck his head and arms through the narrow space, twisting diagonally to make room for his broad shoulders. The gap was so small that there was no possibility he'd be able to go feet first; Tony knew that he's just have to trust in the swampy soil and his brief parachute training session to avoid further injury.

"This is gonna hurt," he muttered to himself, as with a final wriggle and kick off from the chair he nose-dived through the window, hands outstretched to break his fall.

Unfortunately, that meant dropping the whole weight of his falling body onto his broken finger.

The world greyed out for a moment and by the time it returned, Tony was lying in a heap on the soft earth. He started to sit up; and immediately regretted it. The pain was radiating up his arm, sharp and hot and nauseating. Then he made the mistake of looking at his hand.

The makeshift splint had snapped, leaving the broken digit at a sickening angle. The bone gleamed whitely where it had pierced the skin; blood flowed freely from the wound to mix with the damp soil. The combined smells of blood, sweat and humus overwhelmed Tony's already delicate stomach. By the time he'd finished retching up his meagre meal, he felt bad enough that he'dve almost welcomed a terrorist bullet. His head was pounding, his whole left hand was excruciating, throat raw and his abdominal muscles ached from dry heaving.

"Anthony," he gasped, despite the pain it caused him. "You should have talked to Gibbs."

Painfully, the former cop rolled into a sitting position, keeping his left hand held tight to his body. He used his far healthier right hand to brace himself against the wall as he tried to stand. It was a close call, as the scenery blurred and swirled around him; but after a couple of false starts, he managed to get to his feet.

"Right," he managed, that simple act leaving him panting for breath. "Good job. Now, first things first; cover your tracks." He kicked soil over his footprints and the pool of puke and cautiously picked up one of the boards from the window in his good hand; there was a nail sticking out which he'd been lucky to miss on his way down. In the absence of a knife, Tony knew better than to turn down even the most basic of weapons; and he'd seen what a plank with a nail through it could do to a human body more than once.

As ready as he could get with the meagre resources available, Tony staggered off towards the garage in search of the van… and the bomb.

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"Haswari!" Ari looked around to see the man assigned to the police radio scanner listening intently to his headphones.

"What is it, Khalil?"

"Police. How did they track us here? That should be impossible!"

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs is very good at achieving the impossible," Ari replied with a broad smile. "Which is why I went to the trouble of acquiring Anthony. Take Assan and get the van away before they are able to block all escape routes. Mustafa! Come with me to fetch our guest; it seems we shall be needing him sooner than I anticipated. The rest of you, take up your defensive positions. We must, after all, prepare a warm welcome for our visitors."

Ari and Mustafa made their way into the tiny prison cell… and stopped short as they saw the missing boards allowing golden sunlight to stream across the empty chair, bindings still attached to it.

Mustafa cursed in Arabic. "He got away! How did he get away? He must have had help…"

"Clearly, Special Agent DiNozzo is more resourceful than we gave him credit for," drawled Ari with a smirk. "And you, my friend, are either an idiot or a traitor."

"I am no traitor, Haswari!" Mustafa protested vehemently. "I tied him so tight he could barely move!"

"Obviously, he managed it; or he would still be sitting there." Still smiling, Ari produced a gun and shot him point blank in the chest.

The terrorist stared back at his murderer with mute incomprehension, even as he lay bleeding on the damp concrete floor. Ari knelt beside him - and snapped his ally's smallest sinister proximal phalanx as casually as he had his enemy's.

"Unfortunately, I have no time to deal with traitors; and even less for fools, Mustafa," Haswari told him coolly, getting back to his feet. "But perhaps in death, you may still serve some use. After all, by the time Gibbs has proved that your charred remains are not Anthony's, I shall be a very long way away with my very own nuclear weapon. Oh… and do give Doctor Mallard my regards."

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Tony leant his battered body against the whitewashed wall of the garage while the world stopped spinning. He knew that the reason for this whole series of catastrophes lay behind the simple, but securely locked wooden door beside him. And he knew, with absolute certainty, that he was not going to let everything he'd suffered in the past few months be for nothing. The loss of his home, job, and surrogate family, Fiver and the other Sigmas; all for a crate in the back of a van. It had to end; had to be over, whether Tony himself survived or not.

So he did what no sane escaped prisoner would do.

He knocked.

When the lone terrorist guard opened the door, expecting one of his compatriots, he was met by the full force of Tony's most dangerous smile.

"Honey, I'm home," the NCIS agent quoted; and then swung the plank into the man's throat with all his strength. He fell back, clutching at his neck; Tony followed, closing the door behind him.

The terrorist clawed for the gun he wore at his hip; unable to shout for help even as the NCIS agent raised his makeshift club again and brought it down on his head so hard it splintered on impact. He dropped like a stone, out cold.

Doused in adrenaline, Tony ignored his growing light-headedness, the effects of serious dehydration and the fact that one of his bones was sticking through his skin. He knelt beside the man and frisked him efficiently; taking his gun, spare ammo, hunting knife and a bottle of precious water. And then he noticed that the guy wasn't breathing. He checked at his neck for a pulse; and found nothing. The flesh felt unpleasantly spongy to the touch.

"Guess I hit you too hard the first time," he muttered. "Collapsed windpipe. Ducky's gonna give me a real hard time about that one."

He rinsed out his mouth with the precious water before drinking a little, while taking the time to assess his surroundings, keen blue-gold eyes moving ceaselessly over every detail as he planned his next move.

The garage was a spacious one; as well as the van, there was a rack of tools adorning each wall and a tarp in the corner covering something large but unrecognisable. The narrow horizontal windows allowed shafts of golden sunlight to slice through the room, drawing lines of light on the grubby surface of the old white van.

Tony rebandaged his fingers as best he could with the scraps of dirty gauze that were all that remained of Ari's expert splint, and then scooted across the ground to put the dead terrorist's knife to good use. Working carefully and methodically (and trying not to use his left hand if he could help it), Tony slashed each of the van's tyres until they deflated with a reassuring hiss.

_Just you try moving your nuke now, Ari,_ he thought gleefully. _Now, to make sure you don't turn half of Florida into Hiroshima…_

Grateful for his long distant time as a rookie traffic cop, Tony broke easily into the old van and used a tyre iron to pry open the crate.

And looked down into a nightmare of tangled wiring, surrounding a child's Mickey Mouse alarm clock. With every tick, the cartoon eyes flicked from side to side as if watching a tennis match. And with every tick, the alarm got closer to going off.

"This reminds me of the beginning of _Speed_," he muttered to himself. "Wish I was Keanu Reeves. Ah, who am I kidding? At this point, I'd settle for being _McGee._"

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"Haswari!" Khalil's panicked voice made Ari look up from priming the fuses for the house's self-destruct system. "Assan is dead! The tyres on the van have been slashed; and someone has tampered with the bomb!"

"Is it still operational?"

"The timer is damaged; I do not know if it can be repaired…"

"Then gather the others and fix it! There is not much time; we must blow the house to distract Gibbs. Get all the men into the garage and defend it with your lives. If we cannot reach our intended target, we shall have to settle for destroying our enemies."

"What about the Fed? We cannot allow him to escape…"

"I shall take responsibility for him." Ari gripped his shoulder reassuringly. "Do not concern yourself, Khalil."

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo will not live to see the sunset," Ari promised.

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Hope you liked it.

I am deeply indebted to all of the wonderful people who have reviewed or messaged me to ask for more of this story. You guys are the reason I'm still writing.

I do actually have about half of the next chapter written already, so there should be another update within the next week or so.

(Mind you, my long awaited nephew is nine days overdue and counting… and I'm doing double overtime at work… and my cat's not well… and I really should clean something soon…)

I'll do my best. Promise.


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